


One of My Turns

by schatzchen



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angry Sex, Depression, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rough Sex, brian is an arsehole, brian is depressed, roger is a bitchy little angel, winter 1970-71
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schatzchen/pseuds/schatzchen
Summary: The emptiness had never spilled over. Brian had been keeping it in check, keeping himself busy by volunteering at the animal shelter or studying physics way above of his level or playing the guitar until his fingers looked like a mess of bruises and torn cuticles. Sometimes, he would keep himself busy watching Roger bring home girl after girl while he himself sat on the sofa, bitterly drinking a beer and listening to Jimi Hendrix in an attempt to drown out the moans and the bang of the headboard against the wall. He had been keeping the emptiness in check. It had never spilled over. Not until this day.In which Brian is sad and deep in the closet.





	1. The Skin of A Dying Man

It came suddenly. Like a pang in his chest, all at once and all too much, gripping him tightly and binding him to the bed. The sun filtered through the blinds of his window. It must have been nearing eight o'clock in the morning, the winter sun just barely over the horizon. Brian did not know why, but he could not stand it. Pulling the covers over his head, he closed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore the dull pain behind his eyes and the ache in his chest, surely a result of staying up late studying and nothing else.

But something was off. Something was very off. The darkness did not soothe his aching body, thus he removed the covers to reveal his chest, covered in a thin sheet of cold sweat. Evidence of the strange nightmares, being hunted and being revealed as the fraud he was. He had no talent. He had nothing to give.

Actually, Brian knew that was not true. The way his fingers moved over the strings of his guitar was unparalleled to any of his competitors. The sounds he managed to create were special, moved right through your body and were accompanied perfectly by the voice of the frontman Freddie and the drummer - also his roommate - Roger. Sure, Brian had a lot to give. Brian was not worthless.

At this moment, none of those thoughts comforted him. It was as if something had come and ripped out part of him. Now that Brian thought back, perhaps he had been overworking himself. Staying until closing hour at the library followed by a vigorous band practice that ended at ten o'clock followed by a few pints of lager at the pub to drown out the emptiness that was growing bigger inside him. Working hard and getting nothing out of it. No record deals, no album, no master's degree and surely no romance in his life. Sure, there was the occasional one night stand. Even a few dates here and there. They never lasted, however. Brian would say the wrong thing. He would be unable to get it up for her. He would wake up on a morning just like this one, emptiness threatening to spill over, watching the sun dance over her beautiful features only to find -

He felt nothing.

The emptiness had never spilled over, though. Brian had been keeping it in check, keeping himself busy by volunteering at the animal shelter or studying physics way above of his level or playing the guitar until his fingers looked like a mess of bruises and torn cuticles. Sometimes, he would keep himself busy watching Roger bring home girl after girl while he himself sat on the sofa, bitterly drinking a beer and listening to Jimi Hendrix in an attempt to drown out the moans and the bang of the headboard against the wall. He had been keeping the emptiness in check. It had never spilled over.

Not until this day. 

Brian had never been a happy person. As a child he would worry excessively. Would he pass his exams? Would his mother burn down the kitchen when she left the stove for a cigarette? Would his friends like his new haircut? Would he ever find love?

At sixteen, he had decided that he would probably never find love, and he was okay with that. His girlfriend bored him. Anna had been a challenge to get to. She was beautiful, mature for her age and if the rumours were correct, she was not one to hold back when it came to putting out. With just a bit of luck and the encouragement of his friends, he had gotten ahold of her, cornering her at house party and smirking down at her as she wrapped her lithe arms around his neck. He had straightened his hair, put on a nice shirt, and thought he was ready.

It turned out that the rumours were correct, but whatever she did, lapping at him like a hound, he could not keep his mind on her beautiful auburn locks or her wet lips, sticky with pink lipstick wrapped around him. Brian could not put his finger on what was wrong. Perhaps his attention span was not in top shape. Perhaps he just did not like her, but how could he not? He had heard the way his best friend, Tim, had cheered when he saw him walk into school with her on his arm. She was way out of his league, and he did not want her.

She bored him, so he broke up with her and accepted his fate as somebody who would never find somebody to love.

Worry gnawed at him every single day, until one day at the age of twenty-two, he had woken up with a hole in his chest. Something was missing from him. This was a feeling he had learned to recognise, accept and work through enough to keep him going. It was around that time he found Roger with his undeniably fiery nature, sharp tongue and quick wits. Brian had never before met somebody like him, so intelligent and sharp, yet so unbelievably idiotic. It seemed like every day he would see Roger with a new girl, the next one equally as gorgeous as the last, all of them seemingly worshipping at Roger’s feet. Roger had kept a list, Brian found out one drunken evening, of all the girls he would bed. It was a long list. Brian had shaken his head, reminded Roger of all the diseases he was probably spreading, to which Roger promptly reminded him that he did in fact study Biology, and he was good at it too.

Roger was strong-willed. Stubborn. Passionate, Brian found out when Roger had read a particularly upsetting article and was writing a very angry - though well-worded - letter to the magazine. 

It was amusing, Brian found, to live with Roger. He had been renting a two bedroom apartment in central London, much too big for a lonely person such as himself (now that Tim had moved out). Roger had been sleeping on the living room sofa of a friend named Freddie since moving to London and had gotten quite tired of this mysterious roommate’s hobby of adopting every single stray cat he came across. Brian happily took him in.

Roger was handsome. It was as plain as day. Brian could definitely see what the flocks of girls saw in him. Those big, blue eyes and that cheeky smile that seemed to always be on his lips, even during his bursts of anger that left the walls of the flat vibrating with tension. 

Brian still worried. Sometimes he still woke up with a hole in his chest. But he never let the emptiness spill. He never let Roger get as much as a glimpse.

The emptiness was still there, an hour after Brian had woken up. The only reason he knew the time was because he had gotten up from bed to close the dark curtains fully, and had happened to glance at the alarm by his bed. Apparently, it was a monday. Brian had classes on mondays, but that fact did not fully register as he groggily climbed back into bed, pulling the covers neatly over his thin frame and closing his eyes, allowing himself to nod off into a comfortable bliss, away from the hole and the bright white winter day.

He woke back up and glanced at the time. It was nearing three o’clock, which meant classes were almost over, and he needed not worry about them any longer. He figured that he could take a day off, as he had been working tirelessly everyday for about a month. 

Now, however, there was a more urgent matter at hand. The bathroom was very far away, and between here and there, there was a cold hallway. His bladder was uncomfortably full and he knew he needed to get up sooner or later, so he slid out of bed, putting on a pair of stupid bunny slippers Roger had given him as a Christmas gift and wrapping a navy blue robe around his body.

When he left the bedroom, he was surprised to find Roger sitting on the living room sofa, a newspaper in hand and eyebrows furrowed while his lips moved as he read the words on the page. Roger looked up, apparently equally surprised to find Brian at home.

“Oh,” Roger said, looking up from the newspaper to take a look at what Brian was wearing. “I didn’t even know you were home. Didn’t you have classes today?”

It took more than a few moments for Brian to fully register what Roger had said, as if he had never heard English in his whole life. When he did finally understand what Roger had actually said, he straightened his back and shook his head. “No, they were, uh, cancelled.”

Roger nodded and went back to reading his newspaper with great interest. Brian shuffled past him, headed for the bathroom and locked himself in before relieving himself. The sink was dirty, he thought as he began to wash his hands with great care, making sure every single part was clean and free of germs. Looking in the mirror, he examined his face for any imperfections, then deciding that he looked decent, except that he perhaps needed a shave and a shower.

The shower must have been longer than he thought, because soon Roger was banging on the door, insisting that he come out now because he needed to take a piss. Brian ignored this, taking his sweet time drying his hair and his body before once more examining himself in the mirror. Now that he was shirtless, he saw something red and harsh on his chest. A scab, surely from one of the animals at the shelter, but Brian frowned at the sight and leaned over the sink to take a closer look. It was almost completely loose, just one little tug would do the trick, Brian thought and began picking at it. Without warning, a single drop of blood ran down his chest.

“Ow, fuck,” he whispered to himself and grabbed a tissue to wipe up the blood. He stared at it for a moment, a moment too long, long enough to feel a strange, unfamiliar feeling creep up his insides, into the big empty hole in his chest. 

“Hurry the fuck up!” Roger yelled, accompanied by a few harsh bangs on the door to snap Brian out of the haze. “Band practice!”

Brian cursed to himself. He had forgotten about band practice, much unlike himself. Usually, he would be the one nagging Roger to finish up, get ready, be quick so they could finally get going. Brian blamed this temporary lapse of reason on the fact that he was stressed out, and that this definitely had not been his day so far. He shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling from before, setting it aside to deal with it some other time.

 

There was no air in the room. Freddie was up the walls, yelling about every single mistake any of the other members made, glaring every time the new bass player (Gary? Gareth?) said something and quite literally giving Roger the finger when he suggested Freddie was a perfectionist. Brian was more out of it than ever before, finding it hard to concentrate on anything Freddie was saying, Roger and Freddie’s screaming match exhausting him to no end. Most of all, it seemed that his fingers would not obey his mind. He knew he was playing it too slow. He knew it, but he could not will his body to cooperate.

In the middle of a song, Roger threw his drumsticks at the wall, a frustrated yell echoing in the tiny practice room.

“For fuck’s sake, Brian!” he yelled, causing Freddie to throw up his arms in defeat and turn away to get a glass of water. “Try to keep up, will you?”

Brian did not have the energy to fight back, but he did. “I was playing it right. You’re the one speeding up.”

“Oh, you think? You ever heard of ‘rhythm section’? I can’t fucking-”

“Okay, OKAY, children!” Freddie joined in the argument, effectively silencing Roger. “We’ve all had a long day. How about we head to the pub and forget this. It’s only monday once a week after all.”

“You know what?” Gary (Gareth?) said, making Freddie roll his eyes again before he turned to him, a hand on his hip, patiently waiting for what he was to say. “You all are neurotic. I quit.”

“Your loss, darling,” Freddie said and waved him away, not even giving him a second glance as he packed up his bass guitar and hurried out of the room. Freddie sighed and looked between Brian and Roger, who were both looking at Freddie with amused looks. “Let’s go get hammered and forget we just lost our fifth bass player in a row. My treat.”

 

Brian had had too much to drink. It had started with a few pints. Nothing much, and Brian could handle it. Then, Freddie had treated them to shots. He even cheered Roger on as he chugged his beer, even though he knew that he would be the one to take care of Roger when he was too drunk to walk home, and tomorrow when Roger was dealing with a horrible hangover. It had happened too many times. Perhaps Roger would find a nice girl tonight to do that for him instead, Brian pondered and looked around the room to see a few girls looking in their direction. One of them in particular was looking at Roger, with Roger looking back, a lazy smirk on his face as he winked at her. 

The emptiness from the morning and afternoon had almost completely disappeared, but at that moment it all came back, punching a foot long hole in his chest. Whether it was because the girls were obviously only interested in Roger or because of something else, Brian could not tell. What he knew was that it caused something within him to drop. Unfortunately, Roger almost did too. Brian was quickly by his side, steadying him and keeping him up, an arm around his shoulder as Freddie stifled a giggle.

“I think it’s time you head home, darling,” Freddie said and stood up from his chair, taking over from Brian and leading Roger out of the pub.

“But I think that girl wants to fuck me,” Roger whined.

“Don’t we all,” Freddie said before petting Roger on the head and walking out into the cold, Brian following closely. Roger looked happy to be out, however, as he realised it was snowing and the white flakes were landing on his face and melting upon impact. Freddie shook his head and turned to Brian. “I’m getting a taxi. Are you fine to walk him home?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” Brian said, forcing a smile. 

“Well then, I’ll leave you two. Have fun carrying him home,” Freddie said, gesturing towards Roger before laughing and walking off to find a taxi.

Brian sighed as he watched Roger catching snowflakes in his open mouth for a moment, astounded that this was the same person who wore reading glasses whilst reading the newspaper over a cup of tea in the morning, grunting angrily when he read something he deemed inaccurate.

“Are you going to take me home or what?” Roger said suddenly.

Brian nodded. “Come on.”

They walked in silence, Roger no longer wobbling like he had in the pub, and for a moment Brian wondered if it had all been an act. Brian was drunk, yes, but not nearly as drunk as Roger had seemed, and that said something considering Roger was quite a bit of an experienced drinker. The quiet air was comfortable, snowflakes dancing around their heads, and the peace was only interrupted by an animated huff and Roger dramatically pulling his leather jacket tighter over his shoulders.

Brian felt Roger nudging at his side, not budging before they were walking in unison, their sides pressed tightly together and Roger resting his head on Brian’s shoulder. “It’s cold as hell,” Roger said. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Of course,” Brian said, even putting an arm around Roger’s shoulder and pulling him closer. As if the little bit of body heat he provided was magical, Roger immediately stopped shivering.

“Careful,” Roger warned. “Don’t want anyone thinking anything weird about us.”

The walk home in the dark winter night had been comfortable, but under the bright hallway light, the silence turned awkward as they distanced themselves from each other, taking their jackets off, Brian putting his neatly on a hook while Roger threw his on the floor. It was sober. It was pressing. There was no eye contact, and Brian avoided it as best as he could.

He sat down for a while, untying his shoes. Only then did it hit him. He had classes in only a few hours, he did not study at all today and the guilt of missing those god forsaken classes finally caught up to him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, mostly to himself as he leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for just a moment to ease the anxiety that was crashing upon him in waves.

“What?” Roger said, looking up from where he was currently untying his own shoes. Sparkly and pink. It was a momentary distraction, enough for him to forget that he had been asked what had brought on this sudden curse word.

“I didn’t study today,” he said and locked eyes with Roger.

Roger chuckled, smile lingering on his lips as he replied. “You need to stop worrying so much.”

Brian had no idea what to say. What Roger had said was true, but it was never that easy. If he could stop worrying so much, he would have done so at the age of ten. Sometimes Roger’s easy going nature got on his nerves, as if Roger had no idea about the demands of the real world or the dangers of letting go for a second too long. All Brian could do was stay silent, maintaining that awful, pressed eye contact and watching the cheeky smile disappear from Roger’s face.

Roger stood up straight, looking away for a second, almost as if he was figuring out what to say, fully aware that any wrong step would set Brian off. “You’ve been off all day.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

Brian let go of some of the tension in his shoulders, slumping forward a tiny bit and looking up at Roger through a few curls that happened to be draped over his face. He quickly put them back in their place as Roger came closer, standing at Brian’s side, hand reaching up to where Brian had placed the stray curl. Fingers met with dark hair. It was not uncharacteristic of Roger to do something like that. He had always been a very physical person, but somehow this felt different. Brian leaned into the touch, closing his eyes when he felt Roger shift. Roger was in front of him, Brian knew, the hand now gone from his hair but a heavy presence at his front. Roger kneeled in front of him and only then did Brian open his eyes.

“You can talk to me if something is up,” Roger said and Brian could not help but chuckle at how sweet Roger was for once.

“Why are you being so nice?”

Roger tsked and rolled his eyes. “Can’t exactly ignore this fucking cloud hanging over you. It brings me down. So stop it.”

Once again, there was that uncomfortable, overbearing eye contact. Roger’s long lashes were wet with melted snowflakes, his lips parted in the slightest, something desperate in his eyes. Then Roger leaned in. No warning, no signs a head, a spur of the moment idea. The gentlest kiss was placed upon Brian’s lips and his eyes fluttered shut without him willing them to. He was stunned, unable to move, unable to protest, unable to even process what was happening. He only came to his senses when he felt Roger’s hand on his cheek. Brian snapped right out of it, eyes flying open and pulling away quicker than Roger had been able to pull in.

“What the fuck?” he said and forced a small chuckle, looking at Roger in stunned silence.

Roger shrugged. “Sorry. Just felt right.”

“You are so weird, you know?” Brian said, unable to stop himself from laughing a bit.

Roger got up from the floor. “One of my perks.” Brian sat and watched Roger leave, shutting his bedroom door, and realising Roger had not brushed his teeth before bed. Right then, it felt like the most important thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> titles are all from one of my turns from pink floyd which is what inspired me to write this fic!!!


	2. I Can Feel One of My Turns Coming On

Freddie had come into Brian’s life like a storm at sea. Brian had been living peacefully, the surface of his water tranquil and his routines being what he lived for. Working weekends at the restaurant, studying during the weekdays, playing guitar to calm down when the day had been particularly awful. The routine was solid. It kept him on track to being a successful physicist, motivated his thoughts that perhaps one day he would try to get a phD, kept enough money rolling in to pay for rent with the help of what little Roger earned by working as a hotel cleaner. 

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. At that point in time, Brian had never even considered pursuing music full time. Of course, he and Tim had fantasized about it but that was long ago, in their teenage years when the future seemed so bright and possibilities seemed endless. That was long ago. Brian had grown up, realised that even if his guitar playing was as fucking incredible as Roger claimed one evening when he had caught Brian playing, the chances of becoming successful were astronomical.

Then there was Freddie with his big dreams and endless optimism. From the moment Brian met him, sitting on his living room sofa with a brilliant smile and Brian’s guitar in hand, there had been something radiant about him. He claimed he would be famous. A rockstar, or perhaps an opera singer, a ballet dancer or a model. His guitar playing was subpar, Brian noted from the few seconds he allowed Freddie to play before yanking the guitar from his hands and hiding it safely in his room. Freddie had protested, claiming Brian was such a square, very boring, why would you live with him Roger, to which Roger had said that well, he cleans and cooks well. 

Brian was indeed an obedient little thing, it seemed, when Roger had said that, but Brian could not find it in himself to be angry.

When Brian had returned to the living room, only to pass it by (he did not like this Freddie person, he decided) Roger had yelled for him to stop, show them some cool guitar riffs on his Red Special. That guitar was packed away neatly, deep in his closet for nobody to find, so Brian had replied with a short no thanks and headed for the kitchen. He was then stopped by Freddie who asked him please, show us something on the acoustic, then.

Why he even agreed to do so was beyond him. When both of them sat there, fascinated by the way he could so easily pluck forth a few melodies on the guitar with no effort, he could not help but smile. Freddie was ecstatic, giving him a small applause of his own. It almost seemed it had been worth it until Freddie claimed that Brian would be the guitarist of his band. What band, Brian had asked. Well, the one that will make me a rockstar legend, of course.

His routine had been disturbed. They could only practice in the evenings, and weekends were off-limits at first, but that rule quickly dissolved when Freddie got more ambitious, started thinking about tours of America and prancing around on the stage of Wembley arena, crown on his head and Brian wearing a suit of armor to protect him from the groupies that would undoubtedly swarm the stage. Freddie even sketched it out, Brian’s sword being his red special and Roger’s drumsticks serving as daggers. It was a strange fantasy. Brian had to ask - what are you the King of? If you are dressed like that, what is your Kingdom? Freddie laughed. Why, Rhye of course. But I am not the King. I am the Queen. The King is an arsehole, for your information.

Queen. Freddie was persistent. It had to be called Queen. Both Roger and Brian hated it, but it seemed like no matter what they said, Freddie was not budging. So Queen it was, and once that was settled, the practice times got longer and the songwriting got wilder. Not only that, but Roger and Freddie stimulated each other, causing the three of them to have crazier nights and crazier hangovers, all topped off by band practice between two in the afternoon and ten in the evening the next day. Freddie had come into Brian’s life like a storm over a tranquil sea, thrown seamen off the ship and crashing every ship in his way - and Brian was grateful.

Now, however, he blamed Freddie for whatever misfortunes had made him end up in this situation. It was three o’clock in the morning, Brian saw when he looked over at his alarm clock. He had to be up in four hours, and now he could not sleep, no matter how hard he tried. The room was too hot for a December night and Brian’s head was too empty for a night of drinking with his bandmates at the pub. They shifted between absolutely nothing and some kind of black hole, deep and dark, far away out in space. It was so vivid in his mind. If he stayed there long enough, perhaps time would pass him by quicker, perhaps he would not need to work anymore, simply watch as time passed back home on earth while he was floating in space by that black hole, see his friends becoming successful.

Brian sat up in bed. He needed to write something to get it off his mind. Grabbing a pen and paper from his desk, he sat back down, clutching the pen so tightly his knuckles turned white. The page was so blank. It was challenging him, he thought, and glared back at it with equal emptiness. Come on, write. Anything. Two words. He knew what to write. He had the words in his head, but his hand would not do as he commanded. 

After a minute of having a staring contest with a blank sheet of paper, Brian looked up and around the room. It felt very full at the moment, unclean, clothes on the floor and too many things on the walls. Brian sighed, knowing it would disturb him to no end tomorrow if he did not clean it up now, but he was locked in place, limbs heavy with sleep but mind fully awake and reasoning with his body. Get up or go to sleep. It was his choice and he needed to make one now, but no matter what he decided, it seemed that he could not find in in him to do anything. There he sat, naked and too warm with a pen tightly clutched in his hand and a blank sheet of paper in front of him.

The intense battle between mind and matter was interrupted when Brian heard Roger leave his bedroom, feet shuffling on the floor and a light cough coming from the hallway. It seemed to spur Brian on, his mind now more powerful, something in him came alive and he had something to do. He had somebody other than Freddie to blame for his lack of sleep. Thus, he got out of bed, angrily swinging the covers off his body, only bothering to put on a pair of pyjama pants before he left his bedroom.

A light was on in the kitchen, and Brian saw Roger standing by the sink, a glass of water in hand and hair messy from sleep. Roger’s eyes were glazed, surely from just having woken up in the middle of the night, and he was naked except for a pair of tight briefs covering the most important bits.

In a normal situation, Brian would not have cared that Roger was up, but now it was nearing half past three and he had gotten no sleep and he was very eager to take it out on somebody other than himself. He made his presence known by turning off the kitchen ceiling lamp, to which Roger turned around quickly, making a frightened sound before realising it was just Brian.

“Can’t sleep?” Roger asked, turning on the lamp by the sink instead, now that the room was totally in the dark.

“No,” Brian said. “Not when you’re bloody stomping across the hallway.”

Roger put down his glass of water and turned to Brian with a frown. “You’re the one who bloody stomps.”

“Excuse me?” Brian said.

“Just go back to sleep, arsehole,” Roger said. His voice made it sound like he was joking. There was even a small, amused smile over his wet lips and a twinkle in his glassy eyes.

“Watch it,” Brian said, walking over to the sink and turning off the lamp, once more leaving them in darkness. 

“You watch it,” Roger said, a hint of mischevy in his voice, as he reached over to quickly turn the light on again. Roger clearly thought he was being funny. He clearly got a lot of enjoyment out of watching Brian suffer. 

“You’re being very annoying,” Brian said. “I’ve had an awful day and you’ve woken me up in the middle of the night. You think joking around is the right thing to do?”

Roger giggled, amused by the authoritative tone in Brian’s voice. Brian, who was otherwise so mild mannered, friendly, obedient. Brian could see that Roger was there to press his buttons, biting his lip as he stepped closer to Brian. “Want me to kiss you again, so you’ll feel better?”

Brian was clearly taken back. His eyes widened for a moment before he pressed his lips into a thin line. He was basically fuming at that point, ready to lash out completely at Roger, ready to send him away from his flat, never to come back. Brian stared him down until he watched every trace of amusement disappear from Roger’s face, only to be left with furrowed eyebrows and a strange, guilty look in his eyes. 

“... Sorry,” Roger said, no amusement left in his voice. Instead he shook his head, then slammed the glass down on the counter, startling Brian a bit, before turning to him. “You’re being a real prick, you know?” 

Roger pushed past him as he walked out of the kitchen, slamming the door to his bedroom on the way back. The air was stuffy and way too hot, Brian thought and grabbed the glass Roger had used to fill one up for himself. Gulping it down quickly, he felt some tension disappear from his body, now able to think a bit more straight. Perhaps he should go and apologize to Roger.

After putting the glass in the sink and turning the light off as well as wiping down the counter a few times, Brian walked out of the kitchen and rounded the corner to Roger’s room. Some of the tension was back and he could practically feel Roger’s annoyance from the other side of the door. After knocking a few times with no response, Brian simply whispered a small ‘sorry’ before walking away, quick enough that he needed not hear Roger’s answer.

The bed had cooled down and Brian kept the pyjama bottoms on as he climbed back into bed, his mind now comfortably numb, the hole in his chest growing bigger as he thought of the way Roger had told him off. Even if Roger was short tempered and stubborn, he never truly lashed out at Brian himself, and even if this incident could not exactly be described as lashing out, it felt wrong. 

Something was indeed very off, and Brian could not tell if it was about him or the universe itself.

When he woke up, seeing that he had overslept by a whole three hours, he should have been angry with himself. Even being angry with Roger or Freddie for dragging him to a bar the night before he needed to get things done would have been better. Brian felt absolutely nothing. He had missed a few morning classes recently and knew he would need to work extra hard later to catch up, but he figured it would only be a few days until he started feeling better and was able to get back on the horse.

That nothingness lasted until he found himself in the kitchen, face to face with Roger and Freddie’s doing on the kitchen table, in the sink, even on the floor. It seemed that they had decided to experiment a little with breakfast and had left the mess for Brian to clean up. Something bubbled up inside him and he was stuck in place, unable to move as he stared in shock at the plates and frying pans scattered all over, an open packet of bacon lying on the counter for no reason, drops of pancake batter all over the floor. 

He stood and stared in disbelief. How could Roger be so careless? Who raised him? It was as if he expected Brian to do everything around the flat. Vacuuming the crumbs from the carpet as Roger ate biscuits by the tv, only pulling his feet up to give Brian access, not even a thank you as his eyes were glued to the television screen. Making his bed almost every morning, throwing dirty panties from god knows who in the trash because Roger would never do it himself.

Something in him told him to clean it up before Roger got home and made an even bigger mess trying to tidy it up, but that something was quickly silenced by the front door opening and closing, and a frostbitten Roger standing face to face with him.

“Hey Bri, didn’t know you were home,” he said, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it on the floor before stepping out of his shoes. 

“Overslept,” Brian said simply, standing between Roger and the kitchen, expecting Roger to say something about it. He knew, however, that nothing would be said, and Roger would need to have it pointed out to him very explicitly to understand what he did wrong. “This -” Brian gestured to the mess in the kitchen. “- is not okay. Clean it up.”

“I was going to. Jesus. Let me take a piss first.”

“No,” Brian said, grabbing Roger by the arm. “Do it now.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Roger said, breaking free from Brian’s grip. “What’s wrong with you lately? Why are you being so pissy?”

“I can’t really help it when you leave the kitchen looking like hell and expect me to clean it up for you,” Brian said, voice on the verge of breaking, as if he was putting a strain on his vocal cords by saying a sentence longer than a few words.

“You know what I think?” Roger said, a glimmer in his eyes. “I think you just need to get laid.”

Brian huffed in disbelief, shaking his head at Roger. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh yeah?” Roger said, taking a step closer. “You really think so?”

The tension in the air was so thick in could be felt with your bare hands. Brian’s palms were beginning to sweat and he had a deeply uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach when Roger smirked at him, satisfied with how easily he could render Brian helpless. Brian felt Roger’s breath ghosting over his jaw, a myriad of teasing curses leaving Roger’s mouth.

“I know for a fact you haven’t brought a girl here in, what? Six months? I bet whenever a girl so much as looks at you, you get all flustered,” Roger paused for a moment to lick his lips, staring at him as Brian’s breath quickened, a blush spreading over his cheeks. “Remember a few days ago, at the pub? Those girls were only looking at me. I saw how you got jealous. You wanted them to be looking at only you, right? Well, it’s -”

It only took one second too long for Brian to push him away. Roger stared at him with a mixture of shock and pride.

“Clean the bloody kitchen. I’ve got classes,” Brian said.

He left Roger standing there, much too aware of the way his heart was racing and the way Roger had nonchalantly turned his back on him, heading to the bathroom in defiance of Brian’s orders.

It happened more and more that Brian snapped. It was not only at Roger, but at Freddie during band practice, at the fact that they had not yet found a new bass player, at himself for not being able to concentrate on the words on the page of his physics textbook. Mostly, though, it was at the small things. Maybe Roger had left a cup standing on the sofa table. Maybe there weren’t enough spoons. Maybe he had forgotten to remind Roger to buy milk.

Whenever he snapped, he drifted off. Back into space, floating by that black hole, watching time go by on earth. He saw Roger bring home a few new girls. He saw Freddie meet the woman he claimed he would marry. He saw himself, standing there like a fool in his bedroom late at night, staring out the window at the cars passing by, unaware of how time was passing. He saw the way Roger looked at him with concern.

Brian was a fool. He ate dinner in the middle of night. He stood on the balcony. He waited for something to happen. And he was a fool. The emptiness had never spilled over, and now it already had, and Brian had been too much of a fool to be there to see it happen. He only looked down at himself, standing by the kitchen window as he floated by the black hole, letting time pass him by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow big thanks to those of you who comment. big love. peace


	3. Cold as A Razor Blade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw :)

During the two years that Brian, Roger and Freddie had played together, Brian had changed. Freddie had made sure of it, forcefully pulling him out of his awful mindset that life was a straight road, no room for detours. University, marriage, house, then children. Freddie had been constantly annoyed about this for the entire first year of their friendship, growing even more annoyed during the days when Brian would barely respond, too stuck in his own head and too preoccupied by the dull ache in his chest that seemed to come and go more often the older he got.

Freddie had made sure of it, and Brian was angry. It was a slow change but Brian felt himself grow more and more involved with the band, spending evenings coming up with new tunes rather than studying. He had to take it slow, he realised, and was forced to postpone his phD in favour of focusing on what Freddie wanted him to focus on.

It was, truly, good for him. It relaxed him more than it stressed him. The moment he had a guitar in his hands, felt Roger’s bass drum thumping through his body, he felt free from all responsibilities, taken to a different world where the only sounds were a guitar wailing and Roger’s falsetto. The problem came as soon as he got home, when he realised all the studying he could have done. He would then either catch up to it by staying up until the early morning hours or, on days like this one, he would ignore it. Push it back somewhere deep, storing it for another time.

Even if Brian had disliked Freddie in the beginning and they got into heated arguments whenever they were writing a song together, Freddie was genuinely, truly good to him. He was a ray of sunshine in Brian’s dull, boring, straight forward life, taking him off course and pushing him to see the best in bad situations. He was always there for Brian during the days he was down, unable to focus. He had an incredible ability to pick him up from the deepest pits of emptiness like it was nothing and bring him to the ground when he zoned out. It came naturally to him, just like being moronic came naturally to Roger.

Now that Brian thought about it, Roger had not changed a bit. His hair had grown longer, past his shoulders, and he was less skinny, more toned with a little pudge at his waistband. It was not like Brian was paying particular attention to that. He just happened to see it when Roger took his shirt off at practice, or when he walked around wearing nothing but his briefs in the morning, sipping his black coffee and watching in amusement as Brian cleaned the drain for no reason in particular. Roger was still that stubborn, intelligent, hard-headed idiot Brian met a few years ago. It annoyed him, because he envied that. Brian was born constrained.

Roger was never constrained. He flirted with anybody he liked. Anybody who so much as glanced at him seemed to have a shot. Brian was ashamed to admit the feelings that it caused, a deep seated rage bubbling up whenever he saw Roger with yet another girl. The worst part was that Roger knew it, even seemed to relish in the way Brian would look at him whenever it happened. As if he was putting on a show, he would glance up at Brian from across the bar while his tongue was halfway down a girl’s throat, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips, before grabbing the girl’s face, pulling her close and whispering to her that tonight, she would be his. Then Roger would take one last look at pathetic little Brian, sitting alone with half a beer, before he walked away with her.

That was the only thing Brian could think about as he watched Roger lean over the hood of his car, attempting to find whatever made him unable to start it. 

“This piece of shit, I swear,” he said, glancing over at Brian who was sitting on a bench on the pavement, arms crossed and a frown on his face. Why he was frowning, he had no clue. Roger’s car breaking down was not his problem, but it caused them to be late for band practice, and today they were scheduled to have tryouts for new bass players. Simply put, it was the wrong day, and Brian was already irritated as it was. Much too irritated to deal with Roger also being irritated.

Usually, Brian would help. Cars were never his strong suit but he knew that Roger had a short fuze, and when his initial method did not work, he would become entirely too annoyed to even attempt fixing it, instead opting to smoke a whole pack of cigarettes on the curb while waiting for Brian to fix it himself. Therefore, he would much rather do it from the start and avoid Roger’s inevitable outburst.

Today, however, he felt every little bit of energy drain from him at the sight of the car that would not start, the knowledge that they would be late almost making him want to cry. Even if he had wanted to help, he thought his limbs might not follow his orders, so he stayed seated. He watched as Roger grew more and more impatient, before finally giving up and sitting down next to Brian on the bench, lighting a cigarette.

“Let’s just take the tube,” Roger said, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke.

The underground was not exactly Brian’s favourite place in the world. The stench of urine was enough to make him nauseous, the amount of people crammed together made him dizzy and there was Roger, reeking of smoke and radiating an air of impatience. There were no seats available, so they both stood together, making it impossible for Brian to ignore the tapping of Roger’s foot. Tap, tap, tap. When it stopped at a station to let people in, Roger pressed against Brian, making room, and the tiny bit of contact sent a shiver up Brian’s spine. It was the smell of nicotine, the disgusting habit that was so very Roger. It almost pushed him to the edge. It was not even that crowded, and there Roger stood, hand almost touching Brian’s gripping the pole, chest against back.

As soon as they got out, Roger lit another cigarette and marched away from Brian, clearly not in the mood to talk to him. He must have sensed that Brian was just about as fed up as he was himself.

All three of them were in a bad mood. Freddie was yelling at Roger about God knows what while Brian sat on the speaker, tuning his guitar and trying not to hear when Freddie was addressing him. He did not know if he could take it if yet another person was angry with him.

For the time being, all he could think of was the buzzing in his brain, the weird feeling he got whenever Roger looked his way with that eternal, judgemental glow, like he was looking Brian up and down, trying to find anything he could complain about. None of it was made better by the fact that they had been waiting for about an hour for about a potential bass player to show up. Brian, dragged on by Roger, had put up flyers all over his university saying that they were in search for somebody who knew the bass guitar at least sort of well, but their efforts seemed to have been all in vain. There they sat in the practice room, getting nothing done while they waited for something, anything to happen, but alas, nobody came.

“I can’t be arsed to just sit around here,” Freddie said, addressing Brian directly. His hands were on his hips, head cocked to the side as he looked between Brian and Roger, both of them equally exhausted. “Come on, let’s get shitfaced.”

“I can’t,” Brian said, not looking up from his guitar as he plucked a gentle melody. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Don’t you start at noon?” Roger said, walking around the room and looking at nothing in particular.

“Yeah, but -”

“Well, I’m meeting Mary and her friend at the pub,” Freddie said, turning around to pack up his things. “Either you come or you don’t. I honestly don’t care right now.”

“Who’s Mary?” Brian said, choosing to ignore the last remark Freddie had made.

“Seriously?” Roger said, turning around to stare at Brian. “Where have you been the last week?”

“Uh -” Brian began, unsure if Roger and Freddie were making a fool out of him, “- right here?”

“Freddie can’t stop talking about her and you’re asking ‘who’s Mary’? No, wait, actually, I envy you. I wish I could tune his blabbering out -”

“Please, please, Roger,” Freddie said. “You can humiliate me anyway you want. Later. At the pub. And Brian, you can come too. But bring your brain with you, please.”

Brian thought for a moment. Going home right away might mean he could spend some time alone, but getting drunk might ease the numbness he was feeling. That would come at the price of trying to guess who Mary was, inevitably being Roger’s caretaker for the night, and possibly sleeping in way too late only to go to work with a brutal hangover the following day.

Perhaps it would be better to be with his supposed friends than to be alone, as he had spent all his recent alone time standing by the window and looking at absolutely nothing while he let his mind go blank. He missed being productive, being present.

“I’ll be sure to bring my brain,” Brian said, finally getting off the speaker and putting his guitar back into its case.

“Perfect! Roger, you coming too?” Freddie said.

Roger tore his eyes from Brian’s back and nodded. “Yeah.”

 

She was the worst possible person Freddie could have fallen for. Brian would recognise those eyes staring down at him anywhere, memories from years ago flooding back to him, humiliated by the reminder of what had happened.

“So, my dears, this is Mary,” Freddie said, the beautiful blonde by his side, her radiant smile almost blinding them. Mary reached her hand out for Roger to shake, before turning to Brian. He took a deep breath, preparing to be yelled at or hit, but he only saw her smile falter little by little. Seconds felt like hours as she gaped at him, unable to get a word out. When Freddie nudged at her side, she came back to it and let out a chuckle.

“Brian,” she said. “Nice to see you again.”

“You know her?” Roger said. 

“We went on a few dates,” Brian said, now reminded of the awful dinner dates he had been trying to suppress, followed by the awful sex during which Brian had had immense trouble staying hard for her.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Freddie said, a genuine smile on his face, clearly very amused by the situation and by the way Brian’s cheeks were set aflame.

“Not really, but it looks like I traded up!” Mary said, a biting tone to her voice which neither Roger or Freddie seemed to notice. Freddie laughed at her comment while Roger smiled awkwardly, eyes darting between Brian and Mary for a second, before turning to Mary’s friend.

“And who’s this?”

“I’m Angie,” the brunette said, taking Roger’s hand, clearly very enamored by the way he was smiling at her, a hint of mischevy in his eyes. “Fancy buying me a drink?”

“Anything you wish,” Roger said, leading her away from the group and up to the bar.

“That was quick,” Freddie said, watching Roger by the bar, his hand on the lower end of Angie’s back, fingers tracing patterns over her red dress. “Even by his standards.”

“He seems like trouble,” Mary said.

“Oh, trust me, he is,” Freddie said, shaking his head. “Keep that sweet girl away from him. He’s reserved for desperate floozies with no self respect and on desperate nights, Brian.”

Brian scoffed, the blush on his cheeks returning at the blink of an eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was a joke, darling. Lighten up,” Freddie said, patting Brian on the shoulder. “I’ll get us some beers while you two sort out whatever issues you have.”

Freddie left with a strut in his step, fully aware of the grenade he had dropped, and as soon as he was gone, the air was more tense than ever before. Both Mary and Brian refused to acknowledge the other. She was busy studying her nails, thin eyebrows raised as far as they could go and Brian thought that if she tried to raise them anymore, they would disappear into her hairline. She was tapping her foot as well, an annoying sound that seemed to create an echo in the stuffy pub, close to driving Brian absolutely insane. It took everything in him not to tell her off, even gripping the edges of the table and biting his cheek not to curse at her, but when she huffed and started tapping her nails on the table top as well, he could no longer hold back.

“Would you stop that?” Brian said.

“Stop what?”

“Tapping your nails on the table.”

“Sorry,” Mary said and stopped, and Brian saw her sigh as she turned away from him, her eyes searching the crowd for Freddie. Brian caught a glimpse of messy blond hair and mentally cursed Roger for leaving him so early during the night. Babysitting him would be better than having to endure the awkward silence with Mary at his side. At that point, the queue to the bar was getting longer and Brian knew Freddie would be gone for a few minutes, and he could not stand the silence. Anything would be better.

“So, what are you doing nowadays?” Brian asked.

“I started working at Biba,” she said, finally looking up from her nails and directly into Brian’s eyes. “You’re still at university, right?”

“Well, yeah, I had to take a bit of a break because of the band,” he explained through clenched teeth, feeling an urge to defend himself. 

“Fred told me,” Mary said with a nod. Brian had no idea what to say to that, so he stayed silent, watching as Mary played with the hem of her shirt, pulling on a loose thread. She was being friendly, civil, but Brian had a feeling there was something on her mind. “Just have to ask,” she said, chuckling a few times while building up the courage to continue. “What was wrong with me? I mean, you just stopped taking my calls. You gave me no reason for it, no opportunity to ask.”

“Oh,” Brian said, feeling very under pressure by the heavy question lingering in the air. “I just got very, very busy and I… Forgot.”

Mary laughed. “That sounds like bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Brian said, once again taking a defensive stance. “I had a lot of work, and Roger was moving in, and -”

“You know what?” Mary said, waving her hands around. “Forget I even asked.”

Brian was stunned and leaned back in his chair, now content with being silent. The silence was not awkward anymore, but he was more impatient than ever before, looking over at Freddie and praying that he would show up within the next thirty seconds. 

At least now, Brian was quite ready to get absolutely hammered, forget about the way he had completely disregarded Mary two years ago and simply focus on what girl at the pub he could possibly bring home tonight to take his frustrations out on. He looked over at Roger and Angie who were standing at the side of the bar, Roger’s hand on the back of her neck as she came closer to whisper something in his ear. Roger smirked, his other hand finding its way to her waist. It gripped, hard, and she leaned into it, putting her mouth on his neck, and he turned. Roger’s eyes met with Brian’s, and something tugged at the edge of his mouth, exposing a few teeth, eyes glimmering in the dark as he stared Brian down. Before Brian could look away, Roger dipped down to kiss Angie. Right then, Brian wanted the earth to swallow him whole. He needed to find a girl, if only just for tonight.

Freddie came back with beer, and Brian downed his faster than he ever thought possible. Then ordering another one, and yet another one, until he was drunk enough to forget the way Roger had looked at him and the way Mary and Freddie were so obnoxiously ignoring him. He was all alone. Nobody would notice if he slipped away, so he did.

 

“And what’s your name, handsome?” the redhead said, her fingers hooked in his half-unbuttoned shirt. Her fingernails were painted bright yellow and shaped like claws, digging into his chest in a possessive way. It was indeed a bit unsettling, but Brian only smiled down at her. The yellow colour was distracting, though. It reminded him of something. 

“It’s Brian,” he smiled, putting an arm around her shoulder to draw her closer. “I just saw you across the bar, and I knew I had to talk to you.”

He was cringing at his own words, but he knew they worked when her eyes lit up. She must have been a whole three decimeters shorter than him, her neck bent at and uncomfortable angle just so she could look him in the eyes. “Sounds like you’re looking for a good time.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine.”

That was easy. For a moment he wished Roger was there to see it.

He took her hand and lead her to where he knew Freddie and Mary were sitting. The redhead whose name he did not yet know was following happily, gripping his hand tightly and giggling when he did the same back.

“Where’s Roger?” Brian asked, slurring a bit in his words.

“I think he already left, darling!” Freddie said.

“Who is Roger?” the redhead said, poking her head out from behind Brian. 

“That’s my roommate,” Brian said. The redhead poked at his sides, giggling, before wrapping her arms around him and standing on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear -

“Well, let’s go meet Roger then.”

Freddie raised his eyebrows, holding back a laugh, before he gave Brian a thumbs up as they exited the pub together.

 

Zippers should be forbidden, Brian thought just as soon as he had gotten himself and the redhead inside his apartment. Her clothes could not come off fast enough. Desperation clung to his every limb, hands travelling everywhere they could reach, mouth feeling every part of her neck. She was so open for him and he was aching to feel naked skin against his own. He needed to prove something, needed to not be alone for just one night.

His attempts to get her naked were interrupted by the heavy sound of a bed repeatedly hitting a wall, rapidly at that. Low grunting and curse words said by a voice that Brian recognised so well. 

Brian sighed and detached himself from the redhead, rolling his eyes, taken out of the moment once he heard Roger moaning. “Let’s get to my room,” he told her. Yellow claws gripped at his arm and she stumbled behind him, giggling when they passed Roger’s room and heard a woman’s high pitched moans.

“Fuck, Roger, yes! Oh my god, harder!”

The redhead on his arm snorted and laughed, her other hand covering her mouth to hide how big her grin had become. Brian was not grinning. Not even close.

“Fuck me! Faster!”

Judging by the rapid pace at which the headboard was hitting the wall, Brian was pretty sure Roger was going as fast as he possibly could.

Brian dragged her into his room and pushed her onto the bed. She looked up at him with her bottom lip between her teeth, arms above her head, ready to be pinned down by his strong hands. He was positively fuming, rage building up within him, those beers making themselves known by giving him the worst headache, pounding away at his temples at the same pace that the bed was hitting the wall in the other room.

“Are you going to fuck me like that?” 

No answer came from Brian. How could he possibly answer a question like that when the only thing he wanted was to forget he had ever heard anything from Roger’s room? He wished he could drown out the way he was currently grunting and groaning, praising her and telling her how good she felt. Most of all, he wished he could ignore the way it made his cock twitch.

All he could do was get in between the redhead’s legs, hiking up her dress to her waist, completely not in the mood to deal with that God damned zipper. He pulled her panties down, roughly sliding a finger between her folds as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Smelling of cigarettes and something flowery, her combination of scents threw him off, and he paused for a second to look at the wall that separated his and Roger’s rooms. The banging was relentless. A whine came from underneath him and he looked back down, feeling himself grow harder as he tried not to listen to the way Roger was saying filthy words of praise to his partner for the night.

“Come on, let me help you,” the redhead said and flipped their positions so that she was on top. She got to work undoing his belt and pulling down his trousers, freeing his hardening cock. She seemed impressed by his size and dove down, mouth slobbering all over, leaving a trail of saliva down his stomach. Brian closed his eyes, took a handful of hair into his hands and attempted to not feel the way her nails were clawing at his thighs, surely leaving some kind of marks there. 

It felt good, but Brian could not concentrate. His eyes snapped open and he glared at the wall, as if he could communicate telepathically with the girl in the other room to tell her to shut up. 

“Is that good?” the redhead said, and Brian looked down to see her holding his cock with one hand and licking the underside of the head with slow, broad strokes. Truthfully, he felt almost nothing from it, and as he looked at her eyes he felt himself becoming soft. It was not made any better by the still ongoing, very loud lovemaking session next door that was becoming harder to ignore with every second that passed.

“Yeah, keep going,” Brian said, becoming impatient with how slowly she was going. He wanted to grab her head, force her down, but he still had some manners left. 

His patience was thinning. Bang, bang, bang. Her tongue was so slow. Roger’s voice. 

‘Oh yeah, you like that?’ 

Bang, bang, bang, said the headboard to the wall. The redhead was not going to take him in fully. She licked again. He should tell her, but she already noticed him softening and she became desperate, now moving her hand up and down, way too loosely. Brian was bubbling up, looking away from the redhead furiously pumping his cock, as if her loose grip would change anything. His brain felt muddy and thick. His chest felt hot. His eyes were glued onto the wall. Bang, bang, bang.

“FUCK!” Brian cursed, suddenly standing up. He started buttoning his trousers up again, ignoring the redhead sitting on his floor looking absolutely defeated. It was silent between them, the only sounds coming from the room next door.

“Should I… Should I leave?” she asked in a small voice, shrinking in on herself as she watched Brian zip his trousers up. 

It was not like Brian was intentionally ignoring her, but even if he had been less blinded by rage, he would not have replied. Ignoring her, he walked over to the wall he had been glaring at for the last five minutes, banging on it with equal force as the bed was banging on it from the other side.

“Would you shut up?” Brian yelled through the wall. The sounds had stopped coming from Roger’s room, only replaced by giggling from both the girl Roger had brought home and Roger himself.

“You shut up!” Roger then yelled.

“I’m not making any noise!” Brian yelled, his voice breaking at the volume he was yelling.

“Maybe it would do you some good!” Roger yelled. 

“How about you stop bringing slags to my apartment!”

Soft banging started on the wall again, this time not as hard, but Brian could not believe it. At that moment, he felt absolutely insane, as if he would do anything to make it stop. His chest had exploded and the hole was more prevalent than ever, leaving him completely empty, leaving him able to do anything at that moment. His hands were shaking, his temples were pounding harder than ever, and Roger kept yelling.

“How about you bring one home for a change!” Roger yelled, before grunting loudly, the banging getting louder and faster.

That was the final drop. Brian could not be bothered putting on a shirt as he stormed out of his room, his head on fire, and opened the door to Roger’s room.

“Out. Now,” Brian said to the girl he now recognised as Mary’s friend Angie. She scrambled to cover herself in Roger’s blanket, staring at Brian in confusion and shock. “I said now?”

“What the hell, Brian?” Roger yelled, grabbing Angie’s wrist when she was about to get up. “What is wrong with you?”

Brian stared at Angie, ignoring Roger. “Get. Out. Now.”

Roger shook his head, his mouth falling open, staring in shock at Brian. Angie slipped past him, shuffled to put on her dress as Roger and Brian kept up their staring competition, their fight for dominance. Brian turned around for a quick second to see the redhead making her way past him, avoiding eye contact and putting on her shoes in a hurry. Brian just huffed, did not even care at that point. He turned back to Roger who still had that look of utter shock on his face. They both heard the front door close, letting them know both girls were out of the apartment. Finally, Roger did something.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Roger said, jumping out of bed, not bothering to hide his naked form, coming up right in front of Brian to curse at him with distaste. “You need help. You’re fucking sick.”

“I’m not the one who apparently needs to wake up the neighbourhood fucking a girl I just met!”

“If I’m so fucking annoying, why don’t you get a new roommate? Maybe a celibate like yourself?”

“You’re on thin fucking ice. One more word, and I swear to God.”

“What are you going to do, huh? Hit me? Come on, do it,” Roger said, breathing heavily, eyes blown wide and pupils so dilated they covered his entire iris. When Brian did not say anything back, he chuckled. “I thought so! How about next time you have a girl over, you actually fuck her instead of listening to me!”

“Did you not hear yourself? I’ll be surprised if the neighbours don’t complain.”

“You couldn’t get hard for her, is that right?” Roger said, effectively silencing Brian. Roger was much too close for comfort, and up until then, Brian had not really thought about the fact that Roger was completely naked. Now it was overbearing.

“Stop it.”

“Erectile dysfunction at twenty-three. Very typical of you, Bri.”

“Shut up,” Brian said. Roger was speaking so calmly, as if he was speaking to a child, and Brian had a horrible itch in his hands. It was something he had never felt before. He caught himself fantasizing for a moment about closing his fist, letting it do its job on Roger for him, perhaps hitting just the right spot so that Roger would lie on the floor, weeping at him as if he were the child.

“You’re so fucking pathetic, you -”

Brian surged forward, grabbing Roger by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall. 

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” he yelled, banging Roger against the wall one more time for good measure, before pausing for a moment, his breathing harsh and deep, looking into Roger’s eyes. There was a mix of fear and shock in them, his lower lip trembling as he looked up at Brian. As he gathered his senses, still pinning Roger to the wall, he almost started to feel bad until he noticed - 

Roger was hard.

He did not have to look down to know it, but as soon as he did realise it, the anger was traded for something deeper, that weird uncomfortable feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, the one he knew from before. Now, however, it was too much. It ached. It spread. From his stomach, from limb to limb, up to his lungs, and he had to remind himself to take a breath as his large hands tightened around Roger’s shoulders. It took him too long, he knew that. He knew he should have let go many seconds ago, but he was paralyzed when Roger looked up at him through thick eyelashes, breathing just as deeply as Brian. He gulped, the tension much too thick, thinking he would never be able to tear his eyes away, until Roger surged forward, teeth clashing against teeth and his tongue delving deep into Brian’s mouth. 

Brian was taken over by something otherworldly. His body knew what to do even when his mind did not. One of his hands wrapped around Roger’s throat, pinning him down on the bed as he kissed Roger with more desperation that he thought possible. What was even more shocking was that Roger responded with equal desperation, small moans escaping his lips when Brian spread his legs with his knees, the tiny sounds travelling like lightning from Brian’s ears, through his body and settling in his cock, making it harder than ever before.

Roger was needy, loud, too hard, and the thought of what Roger had been doing just before Brian interrupted him came flooding back. Anger bubbled up again, and when Roger tried to say something, Brian put a hand over his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, feeling Roger’s cock twitch underneath him. He removed his hand for just one second when he was sure Roger would stop making those obscene noises. He got himself busy letting his hands glide over the inside of Roger’s thighs.

When Roger whined again, Brian saw red. He grabbed Roger’s face harshly, hissing at him, before he kneeled, beginning to unbutton his trousers. Once he was free of them, he pinned Roger’s hands to the headboard, and scooted up until his cock rested against Roger’s cheek. Like an instinct, Roger opened to take it into his mouth, and Brian could not help but let out a moan. The inside of Roger’s mouth was heavenly, smooth. It was hard not to thrust his hips hard and fast until Roger’s head was banging against the headboard, but Brian controlled himself. 

“Suck it,” he ordered, and Roger moaned around his cock at the words. He sucked, slurped, his eyes closing when Brian went in further, stretching Roger’s mouth as far as it could go. Brian grunted. “Open your eyes.”

Roger looked up at him, eyes tearing up as Brian’s cock went in and out of his mouth, going further each time. It was a beautiful sight, Brian thought, way too out of it to think about the consequences this might have, only focused on the way Roger’s messy hair framed his face, the way he gagged whenever Brian went a bit too far, the way his big, blue eyes refused to look away from him.

“Fuck,” Brian moaned after only a minute or two, already feeling like he might be nearing his orgasm. “I’m going to come.”

Roger then shook his head, tried to break loose, and Brian stopped, removed his cock from Roger’s mouth and watched as it slipped out, resting against his chin.

“I want to...” Roger began, but stopped. He seemed shy, which was an incredibly strange sight, but for some reason Brian could not get enough of it.

“What do you want?” Brian said, threading a hand through Roger’s hair.

“I want you to fuck me,” Roger whispered, still looking up at Brian, looking too innocent for his own good. Brian thought he could not get more turned on, but felt a wave of heat run through his body at those words.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out and got off of Roger, settling between his legs, spreading them with his own legs. He leaned over Roger again, gripping his hair tightly, kissing him everywhere he could reach, biting where he knew he would leave a mark.

“Top drawer,” Roger said in between moans. Brian let go of him to open the drawer, unsure of what exactly to look for, until he saw a bottle of lube sitting patiently in a corner. It looked unopened, and Brian wondered what he had bought it for. If he had found it in any other scenario, he would have guessed he bought it to have sex with girls, but now the situation was a bit more compromising.

And it was unopened.

Would Brian be his first? The thought sent a shiver up his spine.

Roger shifted underneath him, and Brian was riled up. He growled low in Roger’s ear, gripping his throat once more to silence him, before he opened the bottle of lube, spreading it over his fingers. 

“Get on your stomach,” Brian said, feigning confidence. He had never done anal, and certainly not with a man. All he knew was that he would rather see Roger’s ass sticking up in the air and not his cock. That way he could pretend none of it was real, it was not his best mate beneath him, squirming in his hold, asking so nicely to be fucked. Roger complied, arching his back in the slightest to give Brian better access.

Brian pulled him closer, just now realising how close his cock was to Roger’s hole. It was right there in front of him, so willing for him, and Roger was blushing beneath him, shivering when Brian ran his hands over his arse cheeks, giving it a playful slap in the process.

“Look at me,” Brian said and made sure Roger’s eyes were on him, before he slipped a finger into his hole. 

“Oh,” Roger whined, his eyebrows furrowing. Brian did not listen, but watched as Roger arched his back, desperate for more. Even if it was too soon, and it might hurt, he pushed in another finger, moving them immediately without checking to see if Roger was comfortable. The moan he got in return was loud, strained and shameless, echoing in Brian’s mind for what felt like years as his cock pulsated, ready to enter that hole just in front of him.

“God, I want to fuck you,” Brian said, pushing his fingers as deeply as he could, wiggling them around before they touched something that made Roger cry out. If it was in pain or pleasure, Brian did not know, but the sound spurred him on and he did it again, to which Roger cried out again, head slumping forward.

“Please, Brian, fuck me,” he said, voice weak but loud, demanding.

He needed no more encouragement. He took his fingers out, grabbed Roger’s hips harshly, pulling him up to his knees. Roger made a sound of exhaustion, unable to resist whatever Brian did. Brian lined himself up, impatient, feeling like he had waited forever, as if he had longed for this for years but never realised until it was right in front of him. He grabbed hold of Roger’s shoulder, other hand on his cock, and pushed in.

There was no resistance. It slipped in like it was meant to be there, like Roger was created to take his cock. Brian could not hold back a moan that came from the deepest pits of his lungs, guttural and loud, grabbing Roger’s hips so hard he was sure it would leave marks. Sliding in as deep as he could, he looked over at Roger’s face which was twisted into something so pained and lovely, eyes screwed shut until he realised Brian was looking at him. Only then did he open his eyes and stared back, his mouth opening for him to let out a breathy gasp.

Brian stilled in his movements to take in the sight. Cocky, arrogant, stubborn, hard-headed Roger, beneath him, figuratively and literally, taking his cock, bending to his will, completely at his mercy. Roger looked at him in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?”

“Shut up,” Brian said, grabbing Roger’s body harshly, slamming himself in as hard as he could, which left Roger a moaning, gasping mess beneath him. He did it again to an equally wonderful reaction, Roger frantically trying to grab ahold of anything around him, settling on desperately grabbing the sheets. Brian fucked him, hard, feeling himself growing more and more angry the more Roger moaned, which only seemed to make Roger more and more turned on. Finally, Brian had enough of it, and stopped in his movements, leaning over so his chest was pressed against Roger’s back.

“I thought I told you to shut the hell up?” he said, grabbing Roger’s hair, yanking his head so they were face to face. Roger’s lower lip was trembling again, and Brian kept hold of him as he sat up, bringing Roger with him, seated on his cock as if it were his throne. He slowly started rocking up into Roger, now the only sounds coming from him being small gasps. Brian wrapped his arms around Roger, one of his hands meeting with Roger’s cock, which he took into his hand. Roger moaned, and Brian reacted immediately, putting the hand that was not busy jerking Roger off, over his mouth. After that, Roger was left a whimpering mess, and Brian knew they were both going to come soon. The cock twitched in his hand and that was the only warning Brian got before Roger was coming all over his hand. 

Roger slumped forward, and Brian slammed his cock deeply into him, earning him a high-pitched moan. He had dragged this on for long enough and now he was quickly fucking Roger, harder than before. The bed was banging against the wall, similar to how it had earlier that night. Now, Roger was on the receiving end. Willing, unable to resist, completely submitting to whatever Brian wanted to do at the moment. The power was driving him insane, but he felt himself unable to stop himself fucking hard into Roger. Brian needed to get off and the simple sight in front of him, the blondeexhausted and barely keeping his hooded eyes open, tiny whimpers escaping his mouth was enough to send him over the edge in no more that twenty seconds.

When he pulled out, Roger winced, before chuckling to himself, never once opening his eyes.

“Alright, I take it back. No erectile dysfunction,” Roger giggled, his face buried in a pillow.

There was no stress. Brian had expected stress. Anxiety, too, but there was none of that. After a few minutes of absolute silence, Roger started to snore. They were light breaths, feathery, shallow. Brian wondered if he always slept like this, and wondered why he had never seen Roger sleep before.

Roger looked much too innocent in his sleep. Brian stared at him, trying to feel shock, pain, guilt, shame, but there was nothing. There was however a hole that was growing bigger, anger that seemed to come back after a mind-blowing orgasm, a thought that maybe he should visit his black hole for a while and try to forget the fact that he had just had sex with his male roommate.

It was too much and too little all at once. The air in the apartment was too hot. Brian had to get out. Everything was heavy as he slid out of bed, the gravity of the earth having increased tenfold. A fast asleep Roger left behind, Brian made his way to put his trousers back on. A dirty t-shirt. He forgot the jacket, but figured it would be fine. There was a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter in Roger's leather jacket. Of course, Brian would have to go through it now that Roger had left it there on the floor for Brian to inevitably pick up. He put the cigarettes and lighter in his pocket.

Brian opened the front door with no particular plan in mind other than to get away from the immense gravitational pull the floor seemed to have at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for writing this jdhfjsdlhf  
> i bet yall thought brian was just an innocent lil baby boy. welp. thats fun for you!!


	4. Tight as A Tourniquet

When Brian was in fifth grade, his English teacher had assigned the students in the class to each write one positive quality about the other classmates. The cards would be passed around, everybody writing something on their classmates card, things such as ‘cool’, ‘nice clothes’, ‘neat handwriting’. Brian had felt his heart somewhere in his throat when his own card came back to him, wondering what his classmates had to say about him. Perhaps they would say he always had the coolest toys, or that his hair was unique, or even that he was an inspiration to them. All the different possibilities floated around his head and he was smiling from ear to ear when he opened the card, but as soon as he saw what was inside, it felt like all of his organs dropped to the bottom of his body.

Twenty people had written the word ‘nice’ in his card. Five had written ‘weird’.

In what world weird was a positive quality, Brian did not know, but the people that had called him weird were in no way as bad as the people that had called him nice. Nice meant nothing. Nice meant you were forgettable, one in a crowd of a hundred. There were nice people everywhere. If nice was the only word they could think of for him, they probably were not even his friends anyway.

Brian looked at the world differently. Anybody he spent time with was not automatically a friend or even an acquaintance. He could open up, sure, but he knew that if it really came to it, he was on his own. Brian preferred to keep to himself. That was, until he met Tim. Tim Staffel was, for a lack of better word, popular. Playing in a band, tall and handsome, friends in every age group and an older brother who bought him cigarettes and alcohol whenever he asked for it was truly a winning concept. Of course, Brian had kept his distance as he always did, until Tim had come crying to him, exposing his own weaknesses, figuratively showing Brian his neck. Brian had told him it was okay, taken care of him, licked his wounds for him. Brian was, well, nice to Tim. Nice.

Now that Brian was walking around in the early morning hours of a dark December morning, trying to figure out exactly what had happened last night between him and Roger, he realised that he probably had a bit of a thing for Tim when he was younger.

It had been a learning experience. Tim was a good first best friend to have, a gentle but charismatic person who would introduce him to important people, perhaps future friends, invite him to parties out of his own level in the social hierarchy. That is when Brian realised the treasure of being nice, making it his most defining feature. A lot of integrity, yes, but always nice, always gentle, always obedient and bending to the wills of every single person around him.

Roger had figuratively shown him his neck, and Brian had bitten. Not only had he bitten, but he had stolen his cigarettes, which at the moment felt like a much bigger deal than it probably was. Brian had just lit the last cigarette and the sun had already risen. The concept of time was foreign, but Brian guessed it was a bit after seven o’clock in the morning, given the fact that the city had woken up and people on their way to work were giving him strange looks as he walked through the snow, wearing no more than a t-shirt.

Perhaps he should head back. He was not far from home, having walked around in circles for a few hours, unable to even think about facing Roger. Perhaps Roger would have left for work already. Brian would need to see him sooner or later.

When he made it home, the clock told him it was half past eight in the morning. Brian walked to the kitchen, thought of making himself a coffee but ended up staring at the sink for longer than necessary. There laid a note. Scribbles. Roger’s handwriting was neat and classy, quite the opposite of what somebody who did not know him would expect. It was precise, which made the note even more ridiculous. Brian almost wanted to laugh a sad little laugh, but could only stare. 

‘Fuck you for stealing my cigs. 

Love, Rog’

Brian could just about hear the sarcasm in Roger’s voice as it echoed around his seemingly empty skull. Love, Rog. Fuck off, Brian. Usually, he would feel affection for Roger after reading such a thing, smiling as he thought about Roger throwing a temper tantrum over a few missing cigarettes. Now, there was none of that. There was an empty pit, deep in his body and it could not be filled, even when Brian took a few shots of the whiskey Freddie had given him for his twenty-third birthday. It slipped down, burned his esophagus and never settled. It floated around his body. Brian thought he might be tipsy, or perhaps his body was just adjusting to ot being out in the cold anymore, but his fingers and toes were prickling and his eyes felt unfocused however many times he rubbed them.

The bathroom mirror had a new crack in it. Brian would have to get a new one. Tomorrow, perhaps. The man he saw in the mirror was tall. Very tall and very bony. His eyes looked more grey than their usual hazel, cold and void. His skin was white and cold. Much more pale than usual. Was this really what he looked like? Brian leaned over the sink, staring into his own eyes, trying to figure out if this was real or just a horrible fever dream. 

Slap.

Some colour returned to the cheek he had slapped. The man still had no expression on his face. Totally cold, cut off.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

There. Now his cheeks were a light shade of pink, which was much better, much more human than the alternative. 

Slap.

The last one hurt, he noticed. Wincing, he leaned up to the mirror to see the outline of a handprint on his cheek, red and much too obvious for his liking. 

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, turning on the tap to run some cold water, which he then splashed across his face in an attempt to calm the redness down.

Face wet and cheeks burning from the slapping match with himself, he walked over to his bedroom. The bed looked very inviting, and Brian had not actually let himself feel how exhausted he was until now. It seemed that he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow, because he had no memories after the horrible thought that he was probably going to skip work without calling in sick.

He had never been a late sleeper, but he found himself not even shocked when he woke back up at five o’clock. That meant he would at least not be late for band practice, but Brian caught himself thinking that it would probably be better if he had slept through that as well. His fingers still felt numb from the cold and his mind was definitely not in the place that he could deal with Freddie’s nagging and Roger telling him he was playing too slow. Oh, and Freddie would still be pissed off about nobody coming to audition, which was just another reason for him to lash out at Brian.

The only reason he had to go to was because otherwise, Roger would come get him, and he was definitely not in the mood for that.

 

“There you are!” Freddie said when Brian entered the rehearsal room. “Darling, you look awful. Did your feisty little redhead keep you up?”

Brian looked at him in a moment of confusion, in the corner of his eye seeing Roger blush and look down at his hands. “No, uh, had a bad day at work.”

“Well, then you’ll be pleased to know we have a new bass player!”

“Really?” Brian said.

“He’s not joining our band,” Roger said, then turned to Brian. “He’s nineteen. We can’t play with a bloody sixth-former.”

“He’s actually at university,” Freddie said, also directed at Brian. He then shook his head and turned back to Roger. “Do you have any other suggestions, dear? Because as far as I’m aware, you haven’t contributed at all to finding a new bass player -”

“That doesn’t make having a child in our band okay!”

Brian felt himself drifting off, floating upwards, looking down to see himself sitting on the floor, leaned against the wall, tweaking on his guitar while Roger and Freddie were in front of him, bickering like an old married couple. Time had sped up, Brian realised, seeing as he saw himself look around the room with empty eyes while Roger finally positioned himself behind the drum kit, casting a look full of something strange at Brian.

It was all very strange. It was too normal. He and Roger had barely said a word to each other and Brian felt himself drifting off into his own world every two seconds, meaning he missed every single one of the looks Roger gave him.

“So when is this new bass player going to join us?” Roger said.

“His name’s John,” Freddie said. “And he’s not coming today.”

That was all it took to drive Roger over the edge. He threw his drumsticks, groaned loudly and stood up. “Then what the hell are we doing here?”

“Could you stop being such a baby for three seconds? He’s abroad somewhere - whatever, point is, he’s really good and worth waiting for. What do you think, Bri?”

Pulled back on earth, Brian looked up. Now, Roger looked away from him just in time. “What?”

“I said, aren’t you happy I actually did something for the band unlike you two?”

“Oh, piss off,” Roger said and waved Freddie off. Brian only looked as the conflict went down, distracted by the way Roger’s cheeks heated up during the argument, the way his pupils grew to five times their original size whenever he yelled. “I’m going home.”

“Come on. How about we have a few drinks first?” Freddie said. “I’m seeing Mary and Angie again tonight.”

“No,” both Roger and Brian said at the same time.

Freddie chuckled, raising an eyebrow and looking between Roger and Brian as they stood there, staring at him. “I take it last night didn’t go well?”

Roger glanced at Brian before heading behind his drum kit, picking up his things. “Not really. Brian was being a real arse.”

“Is that so?” Freddie said, finally realising they were not going to go to the pub together. He looked at Brian, and when Brian did not look up to meet his gaze, he gently kicked his shin to get his attention. Brian looked up, humming, and Freddie laughed. “Were you being an arse last night?”

“What?” Brian said, looking over at Roger who was making a point of not looking back. “What? No.”

“Roger seems to think so,” Freddie said, chuckling. It was quiet, the only sounds being Brian zipping up the case to his guitar. It was awkward to say the least, and Freddie laughed to fill the air with something, anything. “It was probably good for him. He needs to be taken down a notch.”

“Fuck off, Fred,” Roger said. “Brian, you’re driving.”

Brian did not look up, but felt Roger’s eyes on him. “Yeah, Freddie, he does need to be taken down a notch.”

“I’m waiting outside,” Roger said, arms crossed as he marched out.

When Roger had successfully thrown the door shut with a loud bang, Freddie laughed out loud, shaking his head. Brian could not help but join in, putting his head in his hands while letting a real laugh bubble up. Freddie always had that effect on him, the same one Roger used to have, the one that had disappeared in the last week. 

“So, what did happen last night?” Freddie said, sitting down next to Brian.

“He took Angie home,” Brian said. “And there was a lot of noise. I told them to be quiet, and now I guess Roger is angry with me.”

“Didn’t you take that redhead home?”

Brian blinked. “She left while I was yelling at Roger.”

“You idiot, Brian,” Freddie said. “Your one chance at getting laid in forever and you blow it.”

Now Brian had to be careful about what he said. “Yeah,” he said and chuckled. “Really stupid of me, but he was being so loud I couldn’t even -” Brian stopped himself from saying anything more. 

“Couldn’t even… Start the engine?”

“Something like that,” Brian said with a nod.

“You know, he was looking at you the whole practice,” Freddie said. “And he didn’t yell at you once. I think he wants to apologize, actually.”

“That would be fun,” Brian said and chuckled.

“There’s a first time for everything, dear.”

They sat in silence as Brian finished putting his things away, Freddie looking at him and playing with his long curls, putting them behind his ear before ruffling it a little. “Bri?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Freddie said, and Brian looked up. “You seem different, darling. Is there something on your mind?”

Brian thought about it. He truly did. Ransacked his brain for anything, any reason he was feeling down. Any reason he was feeling nothing. At this point he was not even sure last night had happened or if it had been a scary, unrealistic, wonderful dream. “No, nothing’s on my mind.”

“It very much seems like it,” Freddie said.

“I’ve just been a bit stressed, what with work and studies.”

“I can see that.” 

Brian was quiet, biting his lower lip hard enough to cause pain. “I should go out and drive Roger home before he gets mad.”

“You should,” Freddie said. “He’s scary when he’s angry. Like a rabid gerbil.” Brian laughed and got ready to stand up, but Freddie stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Tell me if something’s wrong. You know I will listen.”

“I know, Fred,” Brian said with a loud sigh, one that made Freddie’s eyebrows furrow in concern. It was quiet for far too long, and Brian knew he should say something, but he instead opted to stand up and pick up his guitar, leaving Freddie sitting there without even saying goodbye.

“Took your sweet time,” Roger said, throwing a lit cigarette into the snow on the ground as soon as he saw Brian step out of the building. “It’s bloody freezing.”

There had been no anger that day, but Brian was boiling as soon as Roger started complaining. “Get in the car.”

“As you say, boss.”

The side of Brian’s mouth twitched at those words and he dared not look up, instead just opened the door to the driver’s seat and got in, putting on his seatbelt while Roger slumped beside him, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Please don’t put your shoes on the seat.”

“You’re so damn uptight.”

Roger rolled the window down as Brian backed out of the parking spot, his hand on the back of Roger’s seat and his eyes fixed on the road behind him. In the corner of his eye, he saw Roger fishing something out of his pocket, lighting it, and -

“Don’t fucking smoke in my car,” Brian said, grabbing the cigarette from Roger’s hand, throwing out of the rolled down window.

“Hey, what the hell?” Roger complained. “You never had a problem with it before.”

“I do now,” Brian said, once again putting his hand on Roger’s seat and backing out. Roger mumbled something Brian could not hear, something which he also did not care to hear. Everything about Roger was making his blood boil, setting his extremities on fire, and he could not look at him for more than a second because he knew his fingers would itch to touch, touch, touch.

However, Brian was good at distractions. He did not give Roger a single look. Roger did not seem bothered, and stomped his way straight to the bathroom as soon as they got back to the flat, slamming the door shut and starting up the shower. Brian listened to the water for a moment, hearing Roger wince and groan as he stepped into it, before he finally decided to go to his room and stare out the window like usual.

At that point, Brian was confused. Actually, he was confused as hell. Last night had barely felt real, being stuck in a daze like no other, and now he was unsure if it had been real. Roger was clearly not going to apologize, unlike what Freddie had said, and that meant Brian was not going to talk to him. That in turn meant there was only one way to know if last night had been real, and that was hard evidence. Brian clearly remembered the unopened bottle of lube in Roger’s bedside table, remembered thinking that he would be the first to use it with Roger. If that was there, opened, that meant last night had happened.

He walked over to the bathroom door, making sure the water was still running before walking into Roger’s room. He hurried, kneeling by the bedside table, opening the drawer with shaky hands, and there it was. The cap was not even on.

So, it had been real. Brian felt his breath get stuck in his throat, his face heating up, his hands shaking enough so that he had to put them in his pockets, curling his fingers for them to stop moving. He stood up, walking out of Roger’s bedroom, standing by the door for just a few seconds to catch his breath. Never before had he felt this way, like he had just taken a cold shower, his head light, the black hole in the sky more appealing that ever before. To make it all worse, that is the moment Roger decided to leave the bathroom, only a towel wrapped around his hips.

It took Brian more than a few moments to take in what was in front of him. Roger had red, yellow, blue bruises on his neck, bruises that strangely resembled handprints over his hips, and a big purple hickey by his collarbone. Brian gulped, the lightheaded feeling coming back, the now familiar hole in his chest growing larger, as if Roger had shot him right open in the hallway.

“Get out of my way,” Roger said, pulling both of them out of the strange atmosphere. Their shoulders touched as Roger made his way past, before slamming the bedroom door harder than he ever had before.

 

Brian looked in the mirror every morning. It took him a few minutes, sometimes up to twenty, to recognize himself. His eyes were sunken in. He was rude. He was not himself. That night with Roger, he was not himself. Those bruises had faded after a few days, but the only times Roger spoke to him were at band practice or whenever he needed a ride somewhere. Brian thought he saw Roger looking at him from the corner of his eye, but also felt that he had no energy to return it.

For some reason, his mind drifted back to fifth grade. Twenty classmates out of twenty-five had written ‘nice’ in his card, and he had made it his prime quality. Tim had liked him because he was nice. Roger had liked him because he was nice. Brian scoffed as he looked at his bony chest in the mirror. Brian was the furthest thing from nice, but he sure had become good at pretending he was. He had never been nice.

It was getting harder and harder to keep the act up. Band rehearsals were tedious. He almost forgot to call in sick to work. School was on his mind, but he kept telling himself that eventually he would feel okay again and then, he would catch up with everything he had missed. Most of the time, the little energy he had was spent on looking at the cars that passed outside his window, perhaps cutting up an apple because that was all he felt like eating nowadays, counting how many red cars passed in a ten minute interval. So far, the average was six red cars.

If Brian was an animal, he would be a goat. Goats stand around. Goats stare at nothing in particular. Goats eat some grass here and there. When a goat gets scared, it faints. Stupidly at that. Brian was a goat. He stood by Roger’s bedroom door. He stared. He listened. He was paralyzed. He ate an apple slice here and there. He was frozen in place, a few idiotic brain cells bouncing around his empty skull. He heard something move in Roger’s room, a cover being discarded, a deep grunt followed by a sigh. Creaking of the mattress. When the door opened, Brian knew he was a goat, clear as day, because he felt himself stop in all his movements, staring at Roger’s messy blonde hair and his annoyed eyes.

“Why are you standing outside my door?”

If ‘because I am stupid’ was a real answer, that is what he would have said.

“I was just walking past,” Brian said.

“Walk faster,” Roger said, slamming the door and going back to bed. 

It was getting harder and harder to believe he had actually done something to Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the reason i havent updated in a few days is because i just got a new job (woop woop)  
> anywayyy if anyone wants to follow me on instagram u can follow my stan acc that has no followers and is just me venting and being cringy. @larryxlurex please dont judge me lmao  
> comments fuel me so big thankies to the lovely commenters


	5. My Favourite Axe

Keeping track of time passing was one thing. It was quick, painless, and comfortable to see the days go by as Brian laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the red cars passing by his window. Keeping track of where Roger went was a different thing. As shameful as it was to admit, Brian had grown accustomed to spending ninety percent of his time in their flat. This meant he had perfect supervision of when Roger came and went, who he brought home, what he ate. Recently, Roger had not been coming home every night. He had not brought a girl home since the incident with Angie.

It should have made him happy. He could sleep peacefully without the obnoxious slamming of the bed against the wall, and he sure could do without hearing the noises Roger made, which no doubt would bring back a load of unwelcomed feelings. That part, he did appreciate, but there was nothing else. No joy about it. No worry about where Roger went except for that uncomfortable, warm feeling at the pit of his stomach, pooling down somewhere unknown. It kept him up at night as he listened for the sound of the front door opening and closing. Most nights Roger did come home. Some, he did not. The nights he and Freddie went out drinking (now, without him) he usually did not appear until the early morning hours, chugging a glass of water while Brian glared at him.

This change in routine was driving Brian up the walls. Band rehearsals were less frequent, now that they all thought there was no reason to practice due to the lack of a bass player. Freddie’s golden child John was still abroad, apparently, and Brian really saw no reason to leave the calm comfort of his bedsheets unless it was sure that this time, they could practice as a full band. Songs were slowly coming to him but they lacked melody except for a persistent A minor that bounced back and forth in his head. He might as well have never played the guitar, because his sound had mellowed out, lost its charm. Only when he really concentrated, he could produce a good sound.

So when it came to the day that John came home and was to join them, Brian was disappointed to find himself metaphorically chained to his bed. Even though he had slept for a good seven hours, his head was pounding like never before and his eyesight was blurry, leaving him unable to rise. At that point, he did not even remember that their new bass player was supposed to play with them, but it was best to assume he would not get up even if he did remember. He laid in bed, watching the minutes tick by, one by one, until there was a knock at his door. Brian barely turned his head to see it open.

“It’s time for rehearsals,” Roger said plainly, no sympathy to be heard. “Get up.”

“Not today,” Brian said, tilting his head slightly to see Roger fully dressed.

“Look, I don’t care if you don’t fucking ‘feel like it’,” Roger said. “Get up!”

Brian stared. Roger had a deathly glare, one that Freddie more often than Brian had been on the receiving end of, but now it seemed that was the only look Roger was capable of giving him. In the midst of staring, Brian remembered his goatlike tendencies, and shrugged it off. Instead of staring, he decided to close his eyes as he leaned back on his pillow, not giving Roger an answer.

“Well, fine,” Roger said. “Suit yourself.”

Roger slammed the door after himself, and Brian was all alone. The minutes kept ticking by. The alarm clock showed him ten, then eleven. It was awfully quiet, except for a buzzing deep inside Brian’s brain. He attempted to think it away, but it only grew louder, until the second he threw the cover off of himself and reached for a pen and paper.

He had the lyrics in his head. Right there. Always there. Never did he manage to write them down in the little time he had the energy to sit upright. Staring at the paper, he made a little hole with the pen.

Stop staring. You look like a goat.

He threw himself back down on the bed and could only wait for sleep to whisk him away, but it never came. Instead, he spent the morning and afternoon counting down the minutes until it would be dark outside and he could finally sleep without the pressure of knowing he should be doing something, anything with his time, other than watch it pass.

The counting game was only interrupted by persistent knocking on his front door. Brian groaned, assuming it was Roger who had forgotten his keys, and reluctantly got out of bed. He put on his blue dressing gown and those horrible bunny slippers from Roger and made his way to the front door, where he was surprised to see Freddie.

“Freddie,” Brian said, suddenly very conscious of how he looked, greeting his friend in the afternoon wearing pyjamas and slippers.

“Oh dear, Brian,” Freddie says, taken back by the sight of Brian’s pale, gaunt face and long limbs which seemed to have shrunk, shrivelled down. Usually, Freddie would have made a joke. Something about how well, darling, it fits your rockstar image, at least. Now, however, he looked concerned, and that scared Brian more than anything. “Will you let me in?”

Brian had not even noticed that they had been standing there, looking at each other for much longer than necessary. “Oh, of course.”

“Rude to keep a lady waiting,” Freddie said as he was taking off his jacket, to which Brian snorted, surprising himself by laughing. Looking behind Freddie, Brian saw a white plastic bag.

“What is that?” Brian nodded towards it.

“Brought some takeout,” Freddie said, picking up the bag. “Thought we could have a little… Talk.”

Brian’s heart sank at the realisation that this was closer to an intervention than to a casual hangout. Immediately the atmosphere in the room changed, and Freddie noticed, the small smile on his face shrinking with every second until it was reduced to nothing. Brian almost felt bad.

“Come on, it’s nothing serious,” Freddie said in an attempt to diffuse the tension. “We haven’t hung on out in a while, just you and I.”

Brian sighed, shaking his head to physically rid himself of the thought that the only reason Freddie was there was to complain about something. Forcing a smile, he gestured for Freddie to follow him into the kitchen, to which Freddie’s big smile returned and he made a confident stride to follow.

The takeout was sat on the table, and Freddie followed suit, propping himself up on the table with his legs dangling off the edge, as Brian retrieved some cutlery from the drawer. A dramatic sigh came from behind him, and Brian turned around with his eyebrows raised in question.

“Brian, good lord,” Freddie said, shaking his head. “Why weren’t you at rehearsal today?” Brian shrugged, turning back to fetch some glasses from the cabinet. “Oh well, John was there today! The new bass player. Much better than Gary.”

“I think it was Gareth, wasn’t it?”

“Well, he should’ve made an effort to make himself a bit more memorable if he wanted us to remember his name!” Freddie said, huffing. “John certainly made an impression, which you would have known if you’d been there.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Brian said, the apology sounding much less genuine than he had meant. “I’ll be there next time.”

The room turned silent in an instant. Freddie chewed on his lip, watching Brian place down the cutlery on the table, neatly as always, fork directly parallel to knife. Brian knew the mood was becoming awkward, which he knew Freddie absolutely detested, and decided to turn away to get them a few beers from the fridge, only to find it empty.

“Shit,” he muttered, which Freddie did not reply to. 

“Well, I’m starving,” Freddie said, getting off the table to take a seat, opening the bag to fetch the contents. The room smelled strongly of curry, and Brian’s stomach turned inside out, his esophagus being twisted as he imagined putting food down his throat. “Come, sit down.”

Brian did as he was told. An obedient dog. A sudden memory of Roger calling him a poodle came to him.

They sat for a moment, Brian poking around his chicken and rice, his insides seemingly imploding because of the one bite he had taken. Freddie was studying his every facial expression, as if he knew he was in charge of the situation, calculating his next move to make sure Brian would take no offense. That in itself was offensive, Brian thought, burying his face in his hands as he sat the fork down to take a break. He wished Freddie would say something. Spit it out, get it over with. He drifted, thought about why Roger was not home, and part of him wanted to board his rocket to the black hole for a moment, but Freddie coughed just in time.

“Not to pull you out of your little moment there,” Freddie said, taking another bite before he continued. “- But you should eat, dear. You look like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“I’m fine,” Brian said, again sounding much less genuine than planned. His mind drifted back to Roger, and why the hell he was not home yet. He knew Roger had work tomorrow, an early shift, and Roger usually needed a lot of sleep, which meant he had to -

“You don’t look fine.”

\- go to sleep at ten o’clock latest, and now it was nearing six. Would Roger even have enough time to do whatever it was he did in the evening? What did he even do? Watch the television, read a newspaper, masturbate? When had Brian gotten so detached that they did not do things together in the evening anymore? When had they last talked?

“Earth to Brian?” Freddie said, waving a hand in front of Brian’s face.

“Sorry,” Brian said, shaking himself out of the daze. “Where is Roger?”

“Oh,” Freddie said. “Probably off with Kathy. He said he was going to her place, I didn’t pay too much -”

“Who is Kathy?”

Brian’s insides were set aflame. He saw red, staring into Freddie’s unsuspecting eyes, and decided that he disliked her. Brian did not know Kathy. All he knew was that any woman Roger tricked into spending time with him was a very poor, dense woman.

“She’s been coming to rehearsals. Helped him write part of his song.”

“At least he’s not bringing his conquests here.”

Freddie squeezed his lips into a thin line, raising his eyebrows as he leaned back into his chair. “Roger told me he hasn’t brought any girls here since the incident with Angie,” he said, biting his lip. “I don’t know the exact details of what happened that night, and neither Angie nor Roger will tell me. All I know is, Roger is shit scared of bringing home girls now. Not quite like him, I must say.”

“Uh,” Brian begins, unsure of what exactly to say. “I wouldn’t scare him off.”

“Well, you sure gave him a scare if he’s willing to go to Kathy’s place instead of bringing her here.”

A flaming feeling began its journey from Brian’s fingertips, nearing his heart, up his neck and to his face. There was no reason for him to bubble up, not now, not when Freddie had been so kind, so kind to mask his intervention with Brian as a normal dinner between close friends. Brian tried to keep it down, tried not to let it spill over but he knew so well that it had spilled long before tonight. 

After calming himself down, taking a deep breath and focusing on the way Freddie’s fingers were tapping against the table, he began to speak. “So, what, you only came here to inform me of Roger’s whereabouts?”

“You asked me!” Freddie said, in a tone that was almost teasing. Brian recognized it from when they had fought before. It was Freddie’s way of calming him down and bringing him to a safe space, but it seemed that he, too, knew it was a losing game. Freddie took a big gulp of air, and looked to be holding it in as he continued speaking. “Well, I guess I have to do this.” He stopped tapping his fingers, now putting his hands closer to the middle of the table, almost as if he was literally reaching out to Brian. “We are worried about you. I mean, you weren’t even there to show John the ropes today!”

“I didn’t know it was today,” Brian said, but even he did not believe himself.

“Roger tells me all you do is mope around in your pyjamas all day.”

“I fucking knew it,” Brian said, now rejoicing in the force the spill of his anger gave him. “You come here, pretend it’s for a friendly visit and it’s a… A bloody intervention!”

“Okay, calm down,” Freddie said, seeming to be a bit taken back by the way Brian was speaking to him. It was unlike the nice, kind, obedient Brian he had grown to know. Brian thought he saw a bit of resemblance to fear in Freddie’s eye, but decided to brush it off as a trick of his own mind. “I wanted to come here because I miss you. I thought Roger was exaggerating, but you’ve barely eaten. Come on, you have to understand where we’re coming from.”

“I don’t want food.”

“Okay, I get it if something is bothering you. Really, I do, but you don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Nothing is bothering me,” Brian said, mostly on instinct, but soon realised it was not even a lie. Frustration grew like a big black mass of tar because he knew he had no reason to be bothered, and yet he was acting like a spoiled child who would not eat his carrots. Idiotic. Stupid. Goat.

“You know you can talk to -”

“I said nothing is bothering me!”

Freddie sat silent, stunned, as if unable to take in the situation. He swallowed, looked down on his lap with an unfamiliar look on his face, before he looked up again, shaking his head. “Fine. I can’t handle this right now. Just show up to practice, okay?”

Brian huffed, turned away from Freddie. It was completely silent as Freddie stood up, leaving everything on the table. Brian closed his eyes as he listened to the shuffling of feet by the front door. Hours passed, it seemed before the front door finally slammed, and Brian was left alone with uneaten takeout and used dishes as companions. He left them as he stood up, staring out of the window for a moment, pacing the floor as he tried to think, clear his head, let the anger seep out of him as if from the chimney of an old locomotive.

Choo choo. If Brian was part of a train, he would be the coal. Or the food that was thrown out from the dining car.

When the anger did finally leave him, he sat back down at the table, staring at the food. It seemed dryer than when he stood up. The street outside was dark, the snow on the pavement lit up by the obnoxious fluorescent light on the street corner. However much time had passed was so far from Brian’s mind. In fact, everything felt quite far away. Something had consumed him, eaten him alive, and all he could do was sit and stare as he felt the hole in his chest grow larger. He just existed. He could not even bring himself to feel bad for how rude he had been to Freddie.

Glancing at the microwave clock, he saw that it was past midnight, and wondered for a moment how so many hours could have passed without him noticing. This was interrupted by the front door opening and Roger making his appearance, stumbling in with a stupid smile on his face. Brian felt some of the anger coming back, and when Roger came into the kitchen, he glared at him. Roger noticed this cold look, and his smile faded, much to Brian’s satisfaction. His hair was messy, his cheeks were red, and his lips were perfectly swollen, almost tempting.

“Oh hey,” Roger said.

“Where have you been, huh?”

“With Kathy,” Roger said, the stupid, cheeky grin making its return to his face. “What’s it to you?”

“It’s past midnight and you have work in the morning.”

Roger looked like he was contemplating whether to play along or not, before finally the grin disappeared, and he gave Brian a long sigh. “Alright. You want to pick a fight? I’m not in the mood. Call Freddie or something.”

“No, I’m just stating facts.”

“Wait, what are you doing up, anyway? Don’t you also have work in the morning?”

The question kept his blood boiling, never once calming him down, instead urging him on. Instead of giving Roger a verbal reply, Brian got out of his chair, contemplating whether or not to grab Roger by his shirt and pinning him against the fridge, yelling at him for hours until finally Roger would give in. There was a deathly glare in Brian’s eyes as he approached him, and he almost expected Roger to shrink under him, but instead there was something else in Roger’s eyes as Brian towered above him. Something wild, as if he was anticipating something. 

It occurred to Brian that the only times he felt anything worthwhile was when something riled him up or when he was too close to Roger. Way too close. Even now, he could feel a heat somewhere deep within as Roger looked up at him, pupils blown and breath heavy. Brian raised his hand, grabbed ahold of the collar of Roger’s shirt. It was a gentle grasp, and Brian was much too gone to notice if he was doing anything strange.

‘Will I feel something if I do this?’

His hand moved from Roger’s collar to his hair, where he grabbed a handful, and pulled him close. He did not know what to expect, but he was surprised to find Roger eagerly kissing him as soon as he got the cue. The fire that kept Brian’s blood boiling travelled south, and within seconds he felt himself getting hard. At the same time Roger put both of his hands on the back of Brian’s neck, keeping him close as he bucked his hips into him, hard enough for Brian to know that Roger was just as easily turned on by what they were doing.

It was shameful and dirty, so wrong in every way, but when Roger’s fingers made their way down to pull at Brian’s pyjama pants, he could not resist letting him do whatever he wanted at the moment. Roger looked up at him through a haze of something unknown, biting his lip as he grabbed Brian’s cock, gently stroking it as he began kissing Brian’s neck.

“Bedroom,” Brian ordered, and Roger nodded. The walk there was short, much too short. Brian thought if the walk had been longer, he might have been able to stop whatever was about to happen. It was irrational. Brian was unreasonable, his mind clouded by something hot and heavy, the only thing on his mind being how badly he wanted to be buried in Roger again, grab his hair and make him watch as he took him, conquered his body.

Roger threw himself down on the bed first, unbuttoning his jeans as Brian pulled his shirt off, eager to ruin Roger’s pale skin with his large, strong hands. Roger seemed to be thinking the same thing, wiggling to get out of his jeans as quickly as possible, before pulling Brian down into a wet, sloppy kiss that lasted no more than thirty seconds. Brian pulled away and buried his face in Roger’s neck, biting and sucking as Roger pulled on his hair, taking in tiny gasps of air. 

One of Roger’s hands was wedged between them, Brian’s cock hard in his grasp as he rocked against him to get some friction. Brian took this as a hint and reached down to feel Roger weeping, heavy for him, which was only confirmed by the almost pained look of pleasure on his face as they both jerked each other off, kissing roughly before biting each other wherever they reached. More like a game of who would win rather than something they should both enjoy, their battle carried on. Brian’s free hand was in Roger’s hair, pulling it as hard as he could while Roger was digging his fingernails into Brian’s shoulder. At the same time, they were both giving each other what they wanted.

“Brian, it hurts,” Roger said, his voice thin and weak. Brian loosened his grip on Roger’s hair, and only then did Roger’s eyes fully open, staring at him with something dark in his eyes. “Don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” Brian said, not completely sure why it turned him on even more to hear Roger say that. To what seemed like Roger’s joy, as he grew impossibly harder in Brian’s grip, he positioned his hand to grab a bigger portion of Roger’s hair, yanking his hair back to reveal his neck, all ready for Brian’s taking. Roger seemed paralyzed beneath him as Brian kept jerking him off, biting cruel words into his neck and holding his head tightly enough to render him helpless. He was shaking, no longer giving Brian anything back, simply lying there and taking it.

With a loud moan, Roger came all over Brian’s hand. He laid panting for a moment as Brian kept his one hand in Roger’s hair, the other now on his own cock, stroking it and feeling it twitch at the sight of Roger in front of him, looking absolutely gorgeous in all his disarrangement.

“What the fuck,” Roger said, bringing Brian out of the moment. His eyes were now wide open, staring at the ceiling, and Brian let go of his cock, which was rapidly going from rock hard to semi-soft. “What. The. Fuck.”

“What?” Brian said, and felt stupid as soon as he had said it, because Roger gave him a look of mild concern.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Roger said. “You just… We… God, what the fuck!”

Brian felt the disappointment of his own lack of climax combined with the leftovers of the anger he had before getting his blood to boil again, frustrated with the look of mild panic in his friend’s eyes. At the same time, there was a glimpse of something completely different in them, a spark, a hint of satisfaction. 

Then, Roger laughed, surprising both of them. 

“I guess we have to talk about it sometime,” Roger said, looking over at Brian. 

Brian blinked.

“Talk about it?”

“This isn’t exactly normal, is it?”

Brian paused, sitting up fully and looking down on Roger. Panting, sweaty, wide-eyed Roger, appearing too innocent for his own good, waiting for Brian to say something. There were no words to justify what Brian felt at that exact moment as he watched Roger prop himself up on his elbows, but all Brian could bring himself to do was stare back, his mouth opening and closing as if he was having difficulties taking in air. He knew he should say something, but his throat was closing up, twisting itself until he could barely breathe and the room was becoming all too warm, the air piercing his lungs and heating up his body as if he was in a sauna. Say something.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Brian finally said, beginning to get out of the bed, but Roger interrupted him by grabbing his wrist.

“Where are you going?” 

“On a walk,” Brian said, feeling the grip of Roger’s hand on his wrist as if he was gripping his whole body. The need to get out increased tenfold and a need to assert himself, push Roger down, take him apart piece by piece made itself known. “What’s it to you?”

Brian began getting up again, but Roger whined, never letting go of Brian’s wrist. “Please, stay.”

Yanking his arm away from Roger’s grip, he stood up in an instant and felt heat from his stomach and up to his chest, wherein it pooled and heated up his lungs. He needed to yell, to do anything to make Roger disappear from him.

“What? You want to talk about it? Maybe I’ll go get you something to eat? Then perhaps you want to get between the sheets again?” Brian yelled, much louder than intended. He knew he looked hysterical as he stood at the foot of Roger’s bed, looking down as he laid there naked and vulnerable, shrinking into himself. “Just tell me what you want from me!”

Roger gulped. “You also have work tomorrow. It’s late.”

Brian scoffed and turned around, exiting the room quick enough to avoid seeing the expression on Roger’s face. He could not take anymore. 

The plan was to go for a walk, but as he began putting on his shoes, he realised he was still in his pyjamas and putting on jeans would be much too annoying. With a groan, he turned back, grabbing Roger’s cigarettes from his jacket and went out on the balcony.

The cold night air was a welcome change. It began to seep into his bones and before long, he was shivering violently, almost hard enough to render him unable to light the cigarette he snatched from Roger’s pack. When he finally did succeed, he brought the stick to his lips and took in as much as he could with one drag, filling his lungs with smoke so fast he thought he might pass out right then and there.

No such luck came to him, however, and he barely noticed the door opening behind him and Roger coming out to stand beside him, looking out over the street and appearing as if he had joined in with Brian in counting how many red cars passed. It did not fully register with him that Roger was there until the cigarette was snatched from his hand and he turned his head to see Roger taking an even bigger drag than Brian had taken.

When Brian looked at Roger in the moonlight, his eyes looking damp, never meeting his own, and his mouth twitching ever so slightly, he thought he might have felt something for a split second. Guilt, perhaps. It was warm, however. Warm and uncomfortable, but it was something, and it made him want to talk. About what, he did not know. Instead of thinking it through, he simply said the first thing that came to his mind.

“Have I been… Mean, lately?” It sounded stupid as soon as he said it, and Roger huffed, clearly annoyed.

“Yeah, you’ve been a right prick to be honest.”

Brian stared in amazement at the way Roger’s hair was bouncing around his face, the way his fingers flicked the cigarette to let the ashes dance in the air, descending to the ground. Roger refused to meet his gaze.

“I know,” he said. “Sorry.”

When Roger let out an amused huff, accompanied by a quite angry facial expression, Brian knew he should not have said anything. Roger flicked the cigarette onto the pavement below, and waited until it landed safely in the snow before he walked back in, leaving Brian standing there alone with no words of comfort to soothe him. As soon as the loneliness set in, the warm, uncomfortable feeling settled, no longer ticked his insides, and it was forgotten.

Brian stood on the balcony for yet another five minutes, lighting another cigarette and taking a few drags before he realised it did nothing to calm him down. Only then did he go inside, throwing himself on top of his bed, letting out a breath he was not aware he had been holding in. It was cold everywhere. Something deep in his brain was freezing up, and nothing he did seemed to help him ease the pain. He tried for a moment to squeeze his head between two pillows, but as soon as he released them he was greeted by yet another wave of pain, now brought on by something completely different. Quiet sniffles were coming from the room next door, muffled by something.

It was easy to fall asleep to that sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yknow what... im not even sorry  
> as always i feed on comments so uhh help a starving man out


	6. Don't Look So Frightened

Space was empty and vast, isolated like nowhere else, and that was the only place Brian felt comfortable in. Other places seemed so cramped and crowded, the living room being taken up by the presence of Roger and the walls of his own bedroom closing in on him. The only way he could get out of it was to stay buried under his covers, trying to fall asleep and travelling out into deep space. 

Even that, he could not have, because sun was starting to filter in through his blinds and there was a persistent knocking on his door, which he had been trying desperately to ignore for the last few seconds.

“Brian, get the fuck up!” came Roger’s voice, high and clear, forcefully pulling Brian out of his own head.

“Not today,” came Brian’s answer.

He had expected Roger to leave him alone, not bother with him, but the door was opened a few seconds later, Roger coming in to rip the covers off of Brian’s freezing body.

“You said not today yesterday,” Roger said. “Come up with a new excuse, shithead.”

“Please leave, Roger,” Brian sai, covering his face with his hands and shrinking into a tiny ball, shying away from Roger as best he could.

“If you don’t get up I’ll come spray you with the hose,” Roger said. If it were anybody else, even Freddie, Brian would not have taken it seriously, but if he knew Roger correctly, he was at his wits end and was not afraid of punishing Brian. Severely.

“Fine,” Brian said, sitting on the edge of his bed. He made a show of stretching, yawning, as if he would not go back to bed the minute Roger left for work. Glancing at Roger, who was still standing by his door, he gave a small smile to cover the fact that he was surprised that Roger was actually still standing there, not yet leaving.

“I know you’re going back to bed when I leave,” Roger said, unamused. Brian shook his head, standing up and reaching for his jeans.

“No, no,” he said. “Of course not.”

“You’re a rubbish liar,” Roger said, crossing his arms. Brian looked at him for a moment, feeling his bravado falter when he saw the expression of Roger’s face. Roger closed his eyes, shaking his head before sighing. “Look, you’ve been acting really fucking weird lately. Where did that come from?”

“Where did what come from?”

Roger laughed. “All of this. Something must have brought this on.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Brian said. 

“You’ve been acting like a fucking piece of shit to me and Freddie,” Roger said, spitting out his words with fury. “Not to mention you never leave the house and you never even fucking eat anymore. What happened?”

“I have no idea,” Brian said, his voice loud and broken. He did not want a confrontation. He wanted to be alone, away from this very crowded room. He wanted to go back to sleep and forget that his actions had consequences. He was tired. “Nothing happened. It’s just there and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Roger was seething. Brian could almost see the fuming coming from his body. “You don’t just stop everything when nothing happened. Tell me!”

“Nothing fucking happened,” Brian said, sitting back down on his bed, turning his body away from Roger who was only moving closer.

“But you never do anything anymore!”

“Maybe I’m just a lazy person,” Brian said, calmly, to bring contrast to Roger who was practically forcing his lungs out. “The reason I don’t do anything is that I am lazy, and stupid, and a fucking…” Brian paused for a moment to stop himself from crying. “A fucking goat.”

“What the,” Roger started, throwing his hands up. “What the bloody hell are you on about?”

“I’m a goat.”

“You’re a goat?” Roger said, waiting for an explanation to the peculiar statement. When Brian sat there, forcing back tears, not even meeting Roger’s eyes, Roger sighed. “Fucking hell, fine.”

Roger slammed the door behind him as he left, stomping through the flat before closing the front door with a loud bang to mark his departure. Brian wiped the few tears that had managed to leave his eyes, the outburst of emotion leaving him as suddenly as it had come, and he once more felt completely void of anything worthwhile.

Only then did he get out of bed. Joints cracking and fingers halfway to being numb, he sauntered over to the kitchen, being met by the sight of dried up chicken curry on the dinner table. Brian hummed slowly, letting some air out of his lungs as he looked at the food, wondering what he should do with it. Nothing at all came to mind. 

Brian sat down. He took a bite. Then another. He wondered for a moment why he was not feeling any flavours when yesterday it felt like it tasted too much. Now it was simply filling up every little crevice of his mouth with a bland taste, mushy and appalling, and he chewed for a few moments until it was too much and he had to spit it back out into the take out box. A useless gesture on Freddie’s end, and very dumb at that. Had Brian ever liked to eat? Had he ever liked to have conversations? It was a strange thing to ask himself but he genuinely could not remember a time in his life where anything was worth remembering.

Leaving the rest of the food on the table, he stood up, walking towards the window. Brian just stared. He had done a lot of that lately. He stood. He stared. He existed. He took up space.

Brian pulled himself away, something in him willing him to Roger’s room. It was a mysterious place and Brian had only been in there a handful of times, two of which had gone a direction he barely even let himself think about after they were done. He had enjoyed those encounters at the moment, had he not? Were they worth remembering?

There was a small cupboard in Roger’s room. It was full of pictures and books, all of which Brian forced himself through, sort of expecting himself to have a reaction. There was a picture of Roger and Freddie from long ago, when they were still roommates, posing by the stall they had owned together in Kensington market. Roger was wearing a ridiculous top hat and bow while Freddie stood beside him, covered in colourful scarfs and looking extraordinarily bohemian. Even that barely captured his attention. Putting the picture back into the cupboard, Brian sat down on the bed, looking out of the window for a while.

It only occurred to Brian that he was still wearing pyjamas when the clock struck three in the afternoon, and Roger would be coming home soon. Quickly getting out of them, he pulled on a t-shirt that was previously owned by Tim, and the pair of jeans he had been wearing the few times he had left the apartment in the last week. They were getting a bit big, and Brian wondered how on earth he could have lost weight, when he really had not been feeling hungry whatsoever, and certainly not starving himself. It made him look gangly rather than tall and handsome. Bony. Too angular. 

When Roger came home, Brian was on the way to the kitchen to slice up an apple after seeing how ridiculous he was starting to look. Brian stopped in his tracks and so did Roger, their shared looks saying nothing and everything at the very same time. Roger’s eyes flickered up and down, seemingly judging whatever Brian was wearing, but it pierced Brian so hard somewhere in his middle that he had to lean against the wall for support. Without any words, Roger stepped into the flat, slowly making his way over to Brian, shoes still on. It was close to making Brian snap, because Roger had just walked inside with snow caked on his shoes which was now melting on the floor, but he did not.

There was no way he could snap, because Roger was looking up at him, wide-eyed and melancholy, taking deep breaths as he put a hand on Brian’s cheek. The other hand was on his chest, monitoring his breathing and his heartbeat which was slowing down and speeding up at the same time. Brian was dizzy and it was not made any better when Roger leaned in closely, his lips just barely brushing against Brian’s. A fleeting moment, precious and easy to break, and it did break. Of course it would. Brian had to step away, leaving Roger standing in the hallway with his wet shoes still on and the sound of Brian’s bedroom door closing.

Morning came as soon as Brian closed his eyes. It surprised even him how easy it was not to think about the almost-kiss, and whatever it meant. That was the second time Roger had kissed him out of nowhere, different than the times they had done other things. The other things came from a different place. It was fuelled by anger and frustration and was easy to brush off, but this was fuelled by something else. Something Brian could not figure out however hard he thought about it. He figured Roger was right in saying that it was ‘not exactly normal’. Whatever that implied, he had no energy to think about. Despite it being so insanely hard to figure out and was sure to do his head in, it was easy to forget about. 

It was easy to ignore the sound of Roger walking around in the morning, singing along to the radio. It was easy to ignore the fact that this morning, Roger did not knock on his door to make sure he woke up.

It was easy to ignore the fact that his actions had consequences when all he did was linger by his black hole, watching himself from high above. The consequences came rushing at him, though, in the form of Roger yelling at him about not showing up to band rehearsals in god knows how long. Brian was leaned against his door frame, his eyes closed as he concentrated very hard on not listening to whatever words were spewing out of Roger’s dirty mouth at a rapid pace. All he thought about was how wonderful it would be to go back to bed. What was stopping him?

In the middle of Roger’s rant, Brian turned around and made himself comfortable in his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and sighing with a smile. He absent-mindedly heard Roger stop in the middle of a sentence, before yelling.

“What the fuck, Bri?” he shouted, storming over to Brian’s side.

“I’m sleepy,” Brian replied, sounding too out of it for his own good.

“Yeah, that’s rich,” Roger said. “Really rich.”

Brian was over trying to hide how lazy he had become, and sighed into his pillow as Roger stared down at him, figuring out what to say next. Brian pretended not to, but he was deeply focused on everything Roger was doing, looking through his lashes to see Roger biting his lip and focusing on something outside the window. Brian blinked at him, and saw Roger’s expression soften when they locked eyes.

“You know,” Roger said. “Freddie suggested we start looking for a new guitarist.”

Brian tried to feel shocked, betrayed, anything, but no appropriate reaction came to him.

“What did you say to that?”

“I agreed with him.”

Brian nodded, shrugged, and turned his head back into the pillow to avoid seeing Roger leave his room.

 

Brian’s room seemed to darken whenever he was all alone. It was cold and unimaginably lonely, yet he would have it no other way. It was not that he perhaps did not want it, but that the energy it would take to warm himself, ask for company and entertainment would be draining enough to leave him gasping for air in an instant.

He was growing colder and colder, no end in sight. A tunnel vision set in and when Roger opened his bedroom door to check on him, he barely noticed. 

The next evening, there was a few loud knocks on the front door and Brian was about to let it pass, thinking Roger would get it, before he remembered that Roger was off somewhere. Probably at Kathy’s place, or out having drinks with a few unsuspecting girls. That forced him to make a decision, ultimately ending with him getting out of bed, groggily walking to the front door and opening to see a tired looking Freddie standing outside with a pile of paper in hand.

Upon seeing Brian’s rundown appearance, he reacted much like the last time they had seen each other, pity in his eyes and carefully walking up to him. This time, however, he embraced Brian without hesitation, wrapping his arms tightly around him and letting himself fall into Brian, to which Brian could do nothing but hug Freddie back. It shocked him, but Freddie gave him absolutely no time to think it through before he was lead to the sofa, sat down, as Freddie pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

That act pulled Brian out of the daze Freddie had brought. “Oh, we don’t smoke indoors.”

“You don’t?” Freddie said, putting them back into his pocket. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem, really, but Freddie -”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here for an intervention,” Freddie laughed.

“Good,” Brian smiled. “Good.”

“I’m just here to show you some things, which reminds me -” Freddie paused to pull out the pile of papers he had brought. “Some song lyrics!”

Brian was silent for a moment as he watched Freddie lay the papers out on the coffee table in front of them. “But, Freddie, Roger told me you were looking for a new guitarist.”

“Oh darling, that doesn’t mean we’ve found one!” Freddie said. “It took us forever to find John, just imagine how long it will take to find a guitar player like you.”

“Sorry,” Brian said, suddenly aware of how big of an issue his own departure had been for the band. It was like he had been far away for so long that he had not realised life was still going on somewhere, things were still happening outside his own bedroom. 

“I know Roger’s been hard on you but I assure you,” Freddie said, putting a hand on Brian’s back. “It’s all right.”

Unaware of where it came from, Brian choked up, surprising both himself and Freddie. Freddie hushed him and took him into his arms and Brian relaxed, letting his head rest on Brian’s shoulder.

“He hates me,” Brian said.

“I know he doesn’t,” Freddie said, rubbing nonsense patterns on Brian’s back. “He feels useless with you. No matter what he does he can’t seem to reach you.”

“He said that?”

“Something like that.”

“Did he say what he’d been ‘doing to reach me’?” Brian asked, his breath speeding up in the slightest. It had not even registered with him until that moment, but perhaps the shameful things they had been doing in their lonesome had been all too make Brian talk to him. It did not anger him, but he felt something drop in him, something he did not even know had been held up by the silly belief that perhaps Roger wanted it too.

“No,” Freddie said. A wave hit Brian, from the pit of his stomach working its way up to his body until it hit his head, clouding his brain and forcing out a loud, shaky sigh. Freddie held him at an arm’s distance, something unusual in his dark eyes. “What has he been doing?”

“I didn’t really think it through at the time,” Brian said, trying to leave any gorey details out. “He’s always been close, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes he just gets too close,” Brian said finally, hoping that sentence would not reveal too much, but at the same time hoping Freddie got the idea. He was sure Freddie would not hate them for it, and if he did, Brian could not bring himself to care as much as he should.

“Too close,” Freddie said, something akin to disappointment washing over his face. “Do you mean…?”

“Yeah,” Brian said.

Freddie paused, biting the inside of his cheek and looking away from Brian for a few seconds. When he looked back, his eyes looked glassy and sympathetic. “I am,” he said and paused, looking like he was working hard to gather his thoughts. “I am not the one to judge.” The expression on Freddie’s face told Brian that this was extremely hard for him to talk about, and Brian felt ashamed that he had brought it up at all. At the same time, he wondered what he meant by saying that he was not the one to judge.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said.

“No, don’t be,” Freddie reassured him. “I sort of guessed it. I mean, I always saw how Roger looked at you and the way he talked about you before I had even met you.”

Brian had somehow convinced himself that it was purely physical. Masturbation with two people, rather than something that went deeper than that. The thought that Roger did it because he had, what, feelings for him? It frankly scared the hell out of Brian. 

Freddie did not stay for long. The awkward moment lasted for no longer than a minute, with Brian muttering that Freddie must have had the wrong idea because there was no way Roger was even capable of feeling anything positive towards Brian at the moment. Freddie had blinked, several times, before saying that yeah, perhaps he was mistaken. Now it was out in the open. Brian and Roger had done something sick, something that had until recently been illegal. They were sick in the head, and Freddie knew it. However, Freddie put the conversation behind him and delved into the lyrics in front of them. Brian gave no input, and realised that the reason Freddie was there was to give him company, not to actually show him the progress the band had been making.

With that, Brian surprised himself by genuinely enjoying the company. It dawned on him, as he watched his friend enthusiastically explain a fictional kingdom he had come up with, that Freddie was neutral ground. No battles were to be had there, and Brian was ashamed that he even once thought ill of Freddie.

The peace was short-lived, however, as Freddie left and Roger appeared in the doorway, holding a big grocery bag with both hands. As soon as he locked eyes with Brian sitting on the sofa, he dropped the bag straight onto the floor and sighed.

“Have you been sitting there all day?” he said.

“Yeah, Freddie came over and -”

“You’re coming to practice?” Roger said, a hint of hope in his voice, but it disappeared as soon as Brian shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Then what the hell was Freddie here for?”

“He showed me some lyrics…”

“Lyrics you’re never going to sing and chords you’ll never play, is that it?” Roger said, spitting out the words. Brian did not understand why Roger seemed so keen to fight as soon as he stepped inside.

“Why are you so mad at me?” Brian whispered, mainly to himself as he cowered on the sofa, making a big deal out of not meeting Roger’s eyes.

“Paid the bills today. All of them,” Roger said. “You haven’t gone to work all month, have you?”

Brian lifted his gaze and met Roger halfway, hoping he would not have to bring any more shame to himself by confirming what Roger had said.

“If you don’t start earning some bloody money soon, I’m out,” Roger said without warning. “I’ll move back in with Freddie. I can’t afford to pay every last pound of the rent here.”

Brian tried to hold back the harsh breath of air that was on the verge of leaving him, and he simply had to look back down or something would most definitely explode within him. “You wouldn’t… You can’t.”

“Oh yeah, I can’t? Is that it? You want me to stand by and watch you ruin your fucking life while draining me off of money?” The only sound in the room was that of Brian’s heart beating loudly in his own ears, like a quick paced snare, a drumroll leading up to something epic. “Stop pitying yourself so much.”

Brian refused to look back up. The hole in his chest had spread out into every single limb and it was filling with a white hot glow that did nothing but make him tremble in his seat. He was vaguely aware that Roger was staring down at him and Brian felt like a fraud of a man when that simple fact caused him to choke up and his body would not follow his commands. Look up at him, damn it. Look up.

“At least fucking look at me!” Roger yelled at what seemed like the top of his lungs, frustrated and angry, slamming his hand on the coffee table in front of him.

It startled Brian enough to look up, the white hot glow spilling out of him, making his eyes tear up as he saw the look on Roger’s face. Absolutely livid, eyes wide and teeth gritted, and Brian could not help himself. He had seen Roger angry, but never in this way, not like this, never directed at Brian. His breathing sped up, unable to tear his eyes away from Roger’s face as the tears in his eyes spilled from him. He was no even crying. The drops just fell out of his eyes at a rapid pace with Roger watching, his face never softening but twisting into a laugh of disbelief.

“Oh,” Roger said, laughing. “Just fucking PERFECT.”

“Stop it,” Brian whispered, the tears dripping down his neck as he furiously wiped at the new ones emerging.

Roger came closer, the words that were spewing out of him being lost when they finally reached Brian’s ears. They all mixed, blurred, buzzing in Brian’s brain, louder and louder with each syllable. A recognizable feeling appeared in Brian’s throat, hindering his breathing, wrapping itself tightly around him until the only thing left for Brian to do was lash out, put an end to the words that were coming out of Roger’s mouth in some way, any way, just to make the buzzing stop.

“Shut up!” Brian yelled, suddenly standing up on shaky legs and towering above Roger who had silenced. “Shut up! Shut up!” He yelled over and over, pushing Roger in the process, hoping that Roger would disappear, tumble into the wall and leave him alone. To his dismay, the push he gave Roger had no effect. Roger stood steady on his two feet, looking at Brian with something close to pity in his eyes, but it was overtaken by something closer to fury. 

“Calm the bloody hell down!” Roger said, grabbing each of Brian’s wrists as he tried to break loose. Why Brian could not overpower Roger was a mystery to him. His muscles burned, weak from days of barely eating and doing nothing but staying in bed, and Roger had no problem pinning him down on the sofa, falling onto him in the process, livid eyes staring down on Brian.

“Let me go,” Brian whispered, giving up the fight, realising he would not win. Roger’s grip on his wrists grew harder.

“Look me in the eye and tell me what is wrong with you!” Roger said, his tone still as full of spite as it had been before.

“I don’t know,” Brian cried, his voice breaking, a sob finally leaving him.

That seemed to be Roger’s cue, for he let go of Brian’s wrists, standing up in a hurry. Brian was afraid of opening his eyes, afraid that he would see the look of pity and distaste on Roger’s face. It had spilled. Brian had let the emptiness spill. He had let everybody know. Everybody hated him. Everybody knew he was weak. Sobs wrecked him, his stomach hurting with every motion he made as he crawled into a foetal position, hugging his body close to himself. He was smaller than he used to be and it felt like all the tears that were spilling out at a ridiculously quick paced pooled in the deep holes on his chest. Whether they were the spaces between his ribs or the hollow pit it felt like Roger had left him with, he could not tell.

All Roger did was look down on him, figuratively and literally, for a few seconds until he left the room. Refusing to open his eyes, Brian listened as the front door opened and closed. That should have been something to stop Brian’s pathetic cries, but it felt like he had boarded a train that could sooner be derailed than stopped, for the sobs that came in waves were strong enough to leave him gasping for air.

It did not stop until Brian passed out, as if weeks of exhaustion had finally caught up to him. The sleep was peaceful, full of dreams about floating in a pool, flying through the air without a care in the world.

He thought the dream spilled into the dream world, when a warm arm slipped around him from behind. In this half-awake state, he felt a warm breath that smelled of nicotine and tar on his neck, fingers trailing down his cheeks where his tears had dried, another hand on his head, stroking his unruly hair out of his face before settling around him.

It was warm and safe and suddenly became all too real when Brian fully opened his eyes and realised it was not part of one of his dreams. Light snoring came from behind him, and Brian’s immediate reaction was to scoot forward, untangle himself from the arms holding him close, sitting up to see Roger lying asleep.

The outburst felt unreal. However Roger could ever scare him, now that Brian saw him asleep and peaceful, was beyond him. It was too much and he wanted to tear his eyes away from the mess of blonde hair and dishevelled clothes, but he could not, until he decided that staring at something else to release the tension from his body would be better. 

It had become dark and the view from Roger’s bedroom window was dull. Nothing happened. No red cars passed in the span of ten minutes. Sitting down on Roger’s bed, spreading his fingers out over the covers and feeling the soft fabric, Brian thought he could stay there. Right there, until his body started to rot, decay until there was nothing left of him.

There was a presence behind him, something warm and comfortable that snaked its way to his back, arms reaching around him. Roger sat behind him, quiet for a moment, leaning his chin on Brian’s shoulder. His hands went from their hold around Brian, fingertips gracing the skin of Brian’s forearms and raising a myriad of goosebumps all over his body. He shivered, leaning into it, and Roger hummed.

“I can’t live like this,” Roger said. “I can’t.”

Brian hummed in response, closing his eyes, overcome by guilt about the mess he had made for not only himself, but for Roger too. 

“Let me help you,” Roger said, nestling his face closer to Brian’s neck, whispering the words into his skin.

“I don’t know how anybody could.”

Roger hummed, the vibrations sending a signal throughout Brian’s body. “Let me try.”

Brian wanted to roll his eyes, give Roger a rude remark, but his eyelids were getting heavy. He reached his hand up to touch Roger’s knuckles, rough and dry from the cold. Everything was heavy, and without himself doing anything, he was pulled down onto the bed with Roger’s arms still around him.

“I love you, arsehole. Let me help,” Roger whispered into his hair.

Brian said nothing back. That uncomfortable, warm feeling was back, tingling throughout him, and Roger’s arms tightened around him. Taking a big gulp of air, holding it in, he tried so hard not to talk. He could not help himself.

“I love you too.”

Roger sighed and pulled Brian closer, hands clasped over his chest.

If Roger was an animal, he would be a lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a slut for sad boys!!!! anyway like ive said: listen to one of my turns by pink floyd or perish


	7. This Is Just a Passing Phase

Sleeping had always been a talent of Brian’s. It came easily to him at nine in the evening and stayed with him until the wee hours of the morning, dreamless and empty. This night, he kept feeling something. It was warm and soft, as if he was back in the womb of his mother, soothed by the calm breaths surrounding him in the darkness.

When he woke up to realise that the hypothetical womb was Roger’s arms and the calm breaths were soft snores coming from a drooling mouth, he made quick business of untangling himself from Roger and jumping out of bed. There was drool on his own cheek, he realised, wiping it away as he noticed it was not his own, but rather Roger’s. He barely remembered what had happened the night before, but something in him changed. The edges of the hole in his chest were blurred whenever he looked at Roger’s sleeping form, his limbs tangled in the sheets and his messy hair spread all across the pillow.

It was almost overwhelming. Brian grabbed a cigarette from Roger’s bedside table and went off to the balcony, not bothering to get dressed before he lit the cigarette, watching the snowflakes fall onto the ground. He could not remember when he had started to enjoy smoking. Only a few weeks ago he would cough and make a face whenever Roger smoked around him, but now the taste of tobacco on his tongue was almost comforting.

After only a few puffs of the cigarette, however, Brian was tired of it. He had to do something. Anything. He threw the cigarette over the railing, watched it disappear into the snow on the street below, and hurried back inside to the kitchen, where he began cleaning. It must have been many days since it was last cleaned, because there were dishes everywhere, almost no food in the refrigerator and the rubbish bin was completely full. Brian cursed Roger under his breath, knowing this was all his doing, and cleaned it up after him. Bit by bit. Starting with the worst parts. Writing a list of things that needed to be purchased. Leaving the list on the fridge where Roger would see.

There was a certain energy in Brian. Uncomfortable and hot, all the way out in his fingertips, restless and rendering him unable to stay still. The energy was incredible, Brian thought as he scrubbed a bit of the kitchen floor where it looked like something sticky had been spilled, but he knew that if Roger would talk to him about last night or try to comfort him in any form, Brian would snap. The energy had him somewhat on edge, every motion being sharp and every breath he took shallow, but it was good. It was a thousand times better than the emptiness.

The kitchen was clean before Brian knew it and he knew it was still early in the morning and he should go back to sleep, but he could not. Instead, he walked around the flat on unstable legs, looking for something to do, when he came across the acoustic sitting in the corner of the living room. Sitting there with its strings untouched and dust forming around it. What a life for a guitar, lonely and dark, collecting dust without anybody to play it. Brian had bought it only a few months ago, when he gave away his old one, but he had never really liked this new one. It never did agree with him. The sound was somehow wrong, somehow to sharp for his ears, but the sight of it sitting there unused was mocking Brian. 

Thus, Brian picked up the guitar, settled cross-legged on the sofa and began playing. His fingers were stiff compared to how they used to be, but after only a few minutes the uncomfortable, hot, restless feeling had taken control of his fingers and he moved with no problem, that familiar, persistent A-minor taking control of him.

He never did notice Roger waking up, watching him from the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face. If he had noticed, he would have stopped. Instead, Brian played a calm tune, humming along as he incorporated a few new chords that he thought might sound good. It did sound good, and that was the worst part, because Brian had wasted weeks not playing just because he thought it would be awful.

Only looking up for a moment, he saw Roger looking at him with his arms crossed and blue eyes wide. They maintained eye contact for a few seconds, Brian shifting in his seat as he waited for Roger to talk. Roger blinked, taking in a deep breath before it all came out.

“I meant what I said last night,” Roger said. “I can’t live like this.”

“Then don’t,” Brian said sharply, knowing that it did not really make sense. All he knew was that he needed to say something back, something that would sting, take the pressure and the guilt off of himself for just a moment.

Roger shook his head, clearly seeing right through Brian, before the tiniest hint of a smile spread across his face. “You’re playing again.”

“Congratulations, you have eyes,” Brian said. He did not mean it as a joke, but as a childish insult, but Roger laughed. A deep, hoarse, sweet laugh that made something inside Brian light up. A warning sign or a flame.

Roger was quiet for a bit. “I’m meeting Fred and John today to practice,” Roger said, sounding as casual as he possibly could, when both of them knew what was to come next. “Come with.”

“Not today,” Brian said, as predicted by both Roger and himself.

“You say not today everyday,” Roger said, before pausing to think of how to convince Brian to come along. It seemed like he had already given up, because Roger smiled, put both of his hands on his hips and spoke - “I demand you come with me.”

Brian rolled his eyes with such exaggeration that Roger had to stifle a giggle. Brian had been stuck in their flat for so long, had gotten to know every single corner, was so angry with the world for shutting him out when in reality he had been isolating himself. That reality dawned on him, forced something in him to rise up to meet Roger face to face in a way that he had not done in a long while. Brian put the guitar away, before he turned to Roger.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll come.”

 

Roger drove them in silence. The roads were icy even in central London, which meant that Roger had to drive much too slow for his own liking, in turn leading to him being quite irritated by the time they reached their destination. Brian watched in silence as Roger slammed the door shut, lighting a cigarette as they both walked into the building. Roger only put out the cigarette once they actually reached their room, walking over to the table with an ashtray and putting it out without acknowledging Freddie nor the boy with brown hair that Brian had never seen before.

Brian turned to them, unsure what to say, and saw Freddie looking at him with a shocked expression that quickly turned into a smile.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” he said, standing up from his seat on a speaker. Brian did not find it funny at all but saw the stranger crack a small smile.

“Hi, Fred,” Brian said and let himself be embraced by Freddie.

“This is John,” Freddie said, turning to the stranger. 

Brian nodded at him and John stood up, reaching a hand out for Brian to shake.

“John Deacon,” he said, his voice weak but low, which only seemed to make Brian nervous. He was not sure what Freddie and Roger had told him about Brian, but what he was sure about was that it could not have been any good.

“Brian,” he said and took John’s hand. It was rough and quick, Brian not really in the mood to act as if he was pleased to be there, and John intuitively knew he should not be making too much of a fuss, and let go of Brian’s hand quite quickly.

Even though he had not planned to join in their rehearsal, he quickly felt the need to. Sitting by the sidelines and watching was deeply frustrating, but he knew he had made a mistake in joining after the first song. His playing was rusty and too slow, his fingers not following his commands when the songs were a bit more demanding. Brian glanced up at Roger, who would usually be the one to make a rude comment about his playing, but Roger would barely make eye contact. It was instead Freddie who spoke up, sighing as he turned to Brian.

“You’re really dragging that chord out, Brian,” he said sharply. “It needs to be like this, see?”

Freddie followed this by imitating the guitar sound about twice as fast as Brian had been playing it. Something was rising in Brian and he sunk back into his seat, clutching his guitar for some kind of support. While Freddie was lecturing him, he instinctively looked over at Roger, needed some kind of contact, and Roger sensed this far quicker than Brian would have expected. They held eye contact, Brian trying his hardest to plead for Roger to stop Freddie, and Roger understood immediately. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Freddie.

“Lay off him, would you?” Roger said. “He hasn’t played in a long time.”

Brian looked over to John who was sitting down, awkwardly biting his lip as the tension rose in the room. Before John had the chance to get eye contact with him, Brian’s gaze fell down to his hands, inspecting his nails very closely as Freddie and Roger continued their staring contest.

“Yeah,” Freddie said. “You know, it’s been very long since we all had some fun together! How about -”

Brian shot a look at Freddie. “I’m not going out today.”

“Oh darling, hear me out before you make any assumptions!” Freddie said. “How about we go over to my flat, play some scrabble, have a few beers. Just like old times.”

“No,” Brian said, feeling the exhaustion from the day already creeping up on him.

Roger sighed audibly, slumping down next to Brian. “Well, I’m your ride and I’m not going straight home.”

“See, there you have it!” Freddie said. “John, will you be coming as well?”

“It sounds fun,” John smiled a gap-toothed, sweet smile that translated into his eyes.

“Well then, let’s get a move on.”

Brian was the first to walk out, waiting like a grumpy child by Roger’s car, arms crossed and a deathly glare in his eyes as he saw Roger walk out, an unlit cig hanging from his lips. Roger lit it on the way over, opening the passenger seat door for Brian, who looked at him, deeply unimpressed.

“Ma’am?” Roger said, holding the door opened in an act of childish chivalry.

“Fuck off,” Brian said and got in the car, before Roger closed the door and entered the car, sitting himself down in the driver’s seat and taking a big drag from his cigarette. “Why’d you make me do this?”

“Why are you acting like such a child?”

The comment stung and Brian felt a cold feeling well up in him, making him unable to look at Roger as he backed out of the parking spot. Biting his lip, he looked out the window as Roger drove, thinking about what to say to get back at him, but true to his nature nothing came to mind and he simply sat there in silence. As always, Roger was right. He was acting like a child. Ungrateful. Dumb.

That strange feeling, threatening to fill him up with every second that passed, stayed with him even as they entered into Freddie’s flat. Freddie and John were already there, setting up the game as they laughed at whatever the other had said a minute before Brian and Roger had entered. It was not hard to see that Freddie had taken to the boy, and it made Brian much more irritated than he had the right to be. Scoffing, he sat down on the sofa next to John and noticed how the boy instantly became stiff, silenced by the mere presence of Brian.

“I’m so pleased you decided to come, dear,” Freddie said to him, and Brian forced a smile.

“I was taken here against my will,” Brian said, only half-joking. Roger appeared into the room, holding a few cans of beer.

“Oh hush,” Roger said and handed him a beer before sitting down on the floor, leaning against Brian’s legs. That simple act of intimacy seemed to replace the cold feeling in Brian’s stomach with something warm, or it might simply have been the feeling of Roger’s warm back against his calves that caused the reaction.

“It’s a shame though, because John here is quite the scrabble champion,” Freddie said.

“That’s only when I play against you,” John laughed, the previous tension in the room seemingly gone in an instant.

“Are you saying I’m no good at it?” Freddie said, putting a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. 

“Only because you put down words that aren’t even real words,” John said and Roger nodded in agreement. That simple action caused his hair to lay spread on Brian’s knees, messy and too tempting. When Brian threaded one of his hands through it, the conversation happening in the background was lost to his ears and Roger turned his head to face him, a small smile playing on his lips. Brian almost melted at the sight, shocked at the way he felt when their eyes met, completely lost to whatever else was happening in the room, and he could not hold back from putting his hand on the top of Roger’s head, petting him as if he were a cat.

“It’s your turn,” Freddie said and Brian looked up in shock, unaware of how much time had passed. He put the beer can down and looked between Roger and Freddie.

“I don’t know,” Brian said. “Roger, can you do it for me?”

Roger, surprisingly obedient, did as he was told, and the game continued as thus. It ended up with Roger playing both his own and Brian’s turns, while Brian played with his hair, lost in the sensation, unaware of the way Freddie was looking at him as he did so. When Brian did finally look up to see Freddie with a smirk on his face, he quickly retreated his hands to his lap and Roger turned around, giving him a look that was simply asking him ‘Why did you stop?’. Brian chuckled, putting one hand back on Roger’s head, pleased at the way Roger then settled against him, sipping his beer and laughing at something John said. Freddie tried to suppress the smile on his face, lighting a cigarette as a way to do anything but gawk at the two.

One of Freddie’s cats entered the room, sitting by the door, and Brian kept his hand in Roger’s hair as he looked at the cat. He was vaguely aware that there was a conversation going on in the room, but instead of participating, he kept eye contact with the cat who seemed to be staring right through him. It was only when Freddie said a familiar name that Brian looked up.

“Mary?” he said.

“I just said I invited Mary over,” Freddie shrugged, taking a drag of his cigarette. Brian groaned, removing his hand from Roger’s hair to put both his hands over his face.

“Then I’m going home,” he said, attempting to stand up, but Roger put a hand on his knee.

“Oh, come on,” Freddie pleaded. “Stay. It’ll be fun!”

“I doubt it,” Brian said, taking Roger’s hand and removing it from his knee. He then stood up. 

“Then I’ll go with you,” Roger said, disappointment in his voice. Freddie raised his eyebrows at Roger and leaned back in his chair.

“I thought you’d be happy to see Angie again,” Freddie said. “You know, clear the air or whatever.”

Roger looked at Brian, something dark in his eyes. A pent up breath in Brian’s lungs burned deeply and quickly at the look. Roger then turned back to Freddie. “It makes no sense, us going home separately.”

Something lit up in Freddie’s eyes, like some kind of understanding, and a smirk spread slowly across his face. “I suppose so.”

It was silent for a moment, all of them unsure about what to say, before Roger broke the silence. “We’ll see you two soon, then.”

“Does that mean you’re back in the band?” Freddie said, turned to Brian.

Brian shook his head, but Roger spoke before Brian had the chance to say no. “Yes, it does.”

 

It seemed that in the hour they had been at Freddie’s flat, Roger had managed to drink a few more beers than planned. He stumbled out of the building with Brian at his side, giggling as he handed Brian the keys, saying that he had to be the one to drive unless they wanted to get into a fatal car crash. Brian sighed, taking the key and opening the door for Roger, mimicking the way he had done so for Brian earlier that day. Roger collapsed in the passenger seat, singing along to every song on the radio as Brian drove the two of them home.

Roger rushed to the bathroom as soon as they entered the flat, shouting that he desperately needed a shower, and Brian replied with a nod, standing dumbly in the hallway, looking around the flat. He saw the acoustic guitar still lying on the sofa, a reminder of how terrible he had been at practice, taunting him and telling him that his days of being the kind of guitarist that people envied were over. Huffing, he turned on his heel, walking over to Roger’s room.

It was strange how nice Roger had been to him all day. Even when he had been two beats behind the rest of the group, he had kept his calm, biting his tongue and letting Freddie be the one to cuss him out. It annoyed him,made him want to provoke Roger, get something out of him, something that did not make him feel like Roger was holding back. Going into Roger’s room, he thought about what he could do to get a reaction of of Roger. It was childish, and Brian caught himself in the middle of the act, thinking that perhaps if he broke something, then Roger would get angry. 

Stupid. Idiotic. Dumb. Absolutely useless, even in the department he used to shine. Instead of doing something, Brian laid himself down on Roger’s unmade bed, clutching the duvet close to himself while he felt the edges of the hole in his chest pulsating with something unfamiliar. He was needy, always on edge, and he needed somebody to calm him down.

When Roger came in, towel around his hips and holding a glass of water, he did a double take at the sight of Brian on his bed, holding the covers close to himself. Sighing, he put the glass down on his bedside table and crossed his arms.

“Why did you have to be so negative around John?” he scolded. “You know, he was nervous to meet you and you barely said hello to him.”

Brian could only stare back, knowing that this was what he wanted, but could not find it in himself to be satisfied. He watched as Roger chewed his lip, clearly waiting for a reply. Of course, he did not get one, with Brian still lying in the bed, looking up at Roger with empty eyes.

“I meant what I said last night,” Roger said, repeating what he had begun to say in the morning. “I love you, but I can’t help you. I don’t want to be that person.”

“Okay,” Brian said, unsure of how to reply. After a moment of thinking through every possible reply, he began speaking, letting something out that he did not even know he had been holding in. “If you don’t want to be that person, just fucking leave me alone. Move out.”

Roger shook his head, his eyes becoming wet with unshed tears. “You’ve been such a prick to me,” he said and paused, taking a deep breath as what seemed to be sadness changed into anger. “You have this… This need to control everything and it makes you hurt everyone around you.”

Brian sat up on the bed, his own floating emotions gathering in one place, pooling in his chest. “Maybe I wanted to get you riled up?” he said, pausing to sigh, feeling a wave of guilt crashing onto him. His voice became weak when he saw the look in Roger’s eyes, Brian’s entire system failing to keep him cold and void of emotions. “I’m sorry if I did anything you didn’t want.”

“You didn’t,” Roger then said, his voice breathy and heavy. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want, I mean.”

Brian bit his lip, the guilt twisting and turning his insides, eating away at him when Roger’s gaze wavered, before his eyes finally found Brian’s.

“What would you like me to do?” Brian said.

It was quiet for a moment, the only sound in the room being Roger’s breathing slowing down as they maintained eye contact. Brian thought he saw something vulnerable in Roger’s eyes, almost as if asking Brian to listen to him, take in everything he was saying.

“Whatever,” he said after a while. “Do whatever. Whatever you want.”

Before he gave Brian the chance to reply, he shed the towel, leaving it on the floor and taking a step towards the bed, opening the bedside table to take out a cigarette.

“What the fuck?” Brian said, shocked at how completely unfazed Roger was at being naked in front of Brian.

“This is my room, arsehole,” he said. Roger was now naked, standing in front of Brian, his limp cock hanging between his legs as he got into bed, lighting the cigarette. 

“Hey, we don’t smoke indoors,” Brian said, his focus turning from Roger’s body to the cigarette between his lips.

“You don’t,” Roger said, taking a deep drag and lying back.

Suddenly, Brian felt weird lying on the bed, wearing jeans and a shirt while Roger was so bloody comfortable with his nudity. It felt like he was mocking Brian, asserting his dominance by showing Brian that he could do whatever he pleased, while Brian was left lying there, uncomfortably shifting in place. He was aware Roger was looking at him as he slowly exhaled the smoke in his lungs, narrowing his eyes as if thinking about what he should say next to make Brian as uncomfortable as possible. To diffuse the tension, Brian then sat up completely, crossing his arms and figuring that he should get out of the room before the situation became any weirder, but Roger interrupted his train of thought by speaking.

“I missed having you at practice,” he said genuinely, taking another drag. Brian hummed in response and looked at Roger, their eyes meeting briefly before Brian had to tear himself away. There was something to tender, so fragile in the way their eyes met. Roger looked away as well, putting the cigarette out in his glass of water, before he too sat up completely, staring at Brian until he simply had to look back into Roger’s big, blue eyes. “I missed you like this.”

Roger leaned closer to Brian, target in sight, and Brian avoided him by a single centimeter, however Roger did not shy away. Brian tried so desperately to find something in Roger’s eyes because he was almost there and he was running out of time and Roger was coming too close for comfort and he had to do something, now. Instead of letting Roger take the wheel, he plunged forward, kissed Roger, all teeth and tongue while his hands gripped Roger’s shoulders, pinning him down against the mattress. His hands frantically travelled from Roger’s shoulders, down his arms before finding his wrists which he pinned against the headboard. There was no resistance with Roger following him much too willingly. That simple detail awakened something in Brian but he felt something different when he heard Roger whimper underneath him, moving his lips against his own with such desperate need that Brian almost felt bad.

He was not angry with Roger, and that was new. The guilt in him was there and bloomed in his chest, making him calm down quickly, slumping down on top of Roger. It took a few seconds of breathing deeply until either of them said something. The tension in the room was now ten times thicker, and Brian dared not lift his head from the crook of Roger’s neck in fear of what he might see.

“Erm,” Roger began. “You weigh pretty much nothing, but would you get off me, please?” Brian said nothing in response, and Roger did not push him off, so he stayed like that, simply letting himself succumb to the rhythm of Roger’s breaths. Brian breathed out a deep sigh and felt Roger shift beneath him, moving both of his hands to Brian’s back, where he lightly traced circles on his pale skin. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Brian chuckled. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always the truth.”

There was something domestic about it when Roger wrapped his arms around Brian, and Brian responded by breathing in the scent of Roger, moving so that his face was nestled as deep as possible in Roger’s neck. Once again, Brian remembered that Roger was naked, knowing it was probably uncomfortable for Roger to have a completely clad man so close to his bare body. Therefore, he reached his hands behind his back to pull his shirt over his head, with Roger helping. He then moved to remove his jeans with Roger watching, a needy look in his eyes. When Brian sat back down, now next to Roger, clad in only underwear, Roger’s hand sneaked its way across Brian’s chest, lying himself down, using Brian’s arm as a pillow. It was almost too natural, Brian thought as he wrapped his arm around Roger, letting Roger come as close as he could possibly get.

It was, truly, too close for comfort, but when he instinctively leaned down to press a soft kiss against Roger’s hair and felt the smell of Roger’s shampoo, the fading smell of cigarettes, it was fine. He needed more of it, the closeness being so addictive, and put his finger under Roger’s chin, tilting his head up to press a kiss against Roger’s lips. Roger kissed back immediately, sinking into him, crawling up to get a better angle and moaning when Brian lifted his hand to hold Roger’s face. Breaths quickened, Roger sighing into the kiss, and Brian was very aware of the hardness against his crotch when Roger shifted to lay half on top of him.

It was probing, too much, but Brian needed more. Sneaking his hand down between their bodies, he grabbed Roger’s hard cock and stroked it slowly, listening to the gasps coming from Roger, who buried his face against Brian’s neck, breathing heavily and clumsily moving his own hand over Brian’s own cock, still covered by the underwear. 

The calmness of the situation drove Brian crazy, feeling something absolutely animalistic overcoming him, and without warning he pushed Roger onto his back, immediately beginning to suck marks onto his chest. Roger gasped and threaded his fingers through Brian’s thick hair, grabbing at it as Brian bit and licked one of his nipples, his hands grabbing Roger’s hips harder than Brian thought would be completely comfortable. Brian sat up, Roger’s thighs on either side of his hips and pulled him closer by his hips. 

He kept one hand on Roger’s hip, gripping hard and leaving the skin red while he put the other around Roger’s cock, pumping it quickly. He wanted to feel everything. Take all of it in. He became rougher, digging his nails into Roger’s skin, and Roger never once protested. Roger then leaned on his elbows, looking deeply into Brian’s eyes with a hazy look. Brian could only watch, taking in the sight for a moment, before Roger spoke.

“Get the lube,” Roger said, and Brian could not hold back a groan, knowing what was to come. It was only then that he realised how much he had wanted to feel himself buried deep inside Roger again, hear his moans, watch himself disappear into him while Roger took it so willingly.

He opened the drawer and grabbed the opened bottle of lube, squirting some onto his fingers before he spread Roger’s legs, putting one finger after another inside him. Roger was warm, tight, addictive in more ways than one. Brian could not even look at his fingers, distracted by the way Roger’s face contorted in pleasure. It was then that Brian found something inside him, something that forced Roger to make a sound that was so desperate, Brian thought he might come from the sound alone.

“Please, please, please, do that again,” Roger begged rapidly his hand moving to grip Brian’s wrist.

This time, Brian watched, wanted the moment to last, wanted to freeze time, take a picture, keep it with him to see how easily he could pick Roger apart with only a few fingers. He kept finding that spot that made Roger seem to go absolutely insane, squirming underneath Brian, panting and saying nonsense words to keep it going.

That was, until Roger grabbed the back of Brian’s neck, pulling him down to kiss him sloppily. “I’m ready,” he whispered, and it took everything in Brian not to moan at the words. He pulled his fingers out, Roger whining at the sensation, before he hastily pulled his underwear off. There was no time to waste, and Brian grabbed the back of Roger’s left thigh, pushing it up against his chest, his other hand guiding his cock to Roger’s willing hole. It was easy, and Brian remembered how last time it had felt as if Roger was made for this.

That feeling was there again. Roger’s hole was made to take him, swallow him whole, drive him to the brink of madness. Brian kept on hand on Roger’s thigh, moving the other one to Roger’s cheek, holding it as he kissed Roger roughly, biting at his lips, before he started thrusting into Roger.

There was no need to warm him up. Roger was demanding, moaning beneath him to go harder, and Brian did not need to be told twice. He relished in the way he had Roger begging beneath him, whining and whimpering, his legs shaking and eyes half closed whenever Brian went deep into him. It was not a sustainable position, however, and as much as he wanted to see Roger’s face when he fucked into him, he had to change position. Brian pulled out, keeping a hand on his cock, lazily jerking himself off as he watched Roger.

“On your hands and knees,” Brian ordered, and Roger did as he was told, arse up in the air, waiting for Brian to do whatever he wanted. Brian enjoyed the sight for a few moments, knowing that Roger was probably becoming impatient, judging by the whines.

“Please,” Roger said, turning his head to look at Brian. His eyes were wide and wet, saliva dripping down his cheek, looking completely wrecked.

“Of course,” Brian said. He kneeled, grabbing Roger by his hips before he pushed inside Roger again, all at once.

There was a loud moan and Roger arched his back, letting Brian go deeper inside him than ever before. Brian groaned at the sight, moving his hand to Roger’s slightly damp hair, gripping it tightly with one hand, pulling as he fucked into Roger harder than before. It was messy, filthy, and both of them moaned, leading Brian to pull harder. His other hand left Roger’s hip, trusting that Roger would not collapse underneath him, and put it on his upper back, pushing him down into the bed. Roger’s face was buried into the pillow. His legs were shaking. Brian guessed that he was close, because Brian himself knew he probably would not last more than a few more trusts.

Thus, he leaned forward, his chest against Roger’s back, his hands around Roger’s throat, pulling him up to meet him halfway. He bit lightly at Roger’s neck, and Roger moaned, his hand frantically searching for Brian’s hair, which he then pulled, urging Brian to bite harder.

That seemed to push Roger over the edge, and he let out a pitiful moan, a string of curse words, before Brian also came, pushing Roger down onto his cock as deep as he could go, not caring whether or not Roger was okay with him coming inside him. 

Roger collapsed, face red and turning to lay on his back as he watched Brian pull out and lay down beside him. There was something so vulnerable in Roger’s eyes that Brian wanted to kiss him, keep him, protect him. It looked almost as if he was scared, a child afraid to be alone at night, and Brian felt something inside him well up at the sight.

Before Roger could say anything, he did just that, not bothering to clean them up. He hummed as he pulled Roger close, locking his arms around him, kissing him softly on the lips. A tiny whine left Roger when Brian reached down to grab a handful of his arse, his eyes open wide, staring at Brian as they said nothing for a few moments.

Roger chuckled, a tiny smirk on his face. “You’re very different whenever we do this,” Roger said after a moment of composing himself. None of the vulnerability was left in his voice, instead replaced by the usual, cocky nature Brian was used to.

“So are you,” Brian said, looking down at Roger who was inching closer to him, before burying his face in Brian’s neck.

“It’s weird,” Roger said, sighing, lazily pressing a few kisses to Brian’s collarbone.

Brian snorted and tightened his grip around Roger. “It is.”

Roger sighed. “I want to sleep now,” he said, and Brian nodded.

“Goodnight then,” Brian said, moving his hands over Roger’s back, putting one in Roger’s hair and letting the other settle on the small of his back.

“Goodnight, Bri,” Roger replied.

They slept that way, facing each other, clinging onto each other as if it was the last time they would ever be near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was fluffy, i might need to make the last chapter extra angsty to cleanse myself!  
> anyway i will very likely be writing another fic as soon as i finish this one, so hit me up on ig (@larryxlurex) if you want to request something. seriously. i'll write anything.  
> bye bye mwah have a good one folks


	8. One of My Bad Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi loves <3 ive missed u <3  
> so!! last chapter! youve all been so supportive and ive truly appreciated every single comment. to all of yalls who have been here since the start, BIG LOVE!

The stiffness in his back woke Brian up the next day, pain shooting up his spine as he opened his eyes to the warmth in his arms. Roger’s head was buried in Brian’s chest, cheek pressed up against his skin and hair messy, spread out all over the pillow. It was tempting, soft and shiny, none of the usual hairspray or brushing, forcing it to look messier than it was naturally. Biting his lip, Brian let his fingers grace Roger’s scalp, combing the hair out slowly, carefully, making sure it would not wake Roger. A soft sigh left Roger’s lips, warm and sleepy against Brian’s skin. Brian pressed his mouth to Roger’s head, hand tangled in his hair, combing it out softly as he listened to Roger’s calm breathing.

It went on for a few minutes, Brian almost drifting back to sleep at one point, before Roger stirred, stretching and groaning. Brian kept his hand in Roger’s hair, only stopping in his movements but not removing it. Roger’s eyes fluttered open with a yawn, long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he calmly looked up at Brian, wide-eyed and sleepy.

“Morning,” Brian said.

The quiet in the room embraced them, the soft breeze coming in from the open window sobering them, and Roger kept his eyes on Brian, as if he saw right through him, saw the very depths of his sadness, way deep into his soul, seeing the frayed edges of the hole in his chest. Tentatively, Roger leaned forward, his eyes closing again when their lips met in a chaste, dry kiss, sweet and short. Almost innocent.

“Morning,” Roger greeted after pulling away, his body pressed tightly against Brian’s. “I had the weirdest dream.”

“About what?”

“You went to space,” Roger said before chuckling. “And when you came back, I was old, but you hadn’t aged more than a year.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It was quite sad, really,” Roger said, eyes bright and a hand gently playing with one of Brian’s messy curls.

“I guess.”

Silent again, Brian ached to fill the empty space with something, so he leaned forward again to capture Roger in another kiss which deepened immediately, both of them keeping their hands in the others’ hair, clinging onto each other like they needed the other to survive the day ahead.

“What time is it?” Roger asked after pulling away.

Brian looked over at the clock. “About nine.”

“We should get going then, shouldn’t we?”

Brian hummed, content just staying in bed with Roger all day, but knowing that he was right. Staying in bed all day seemed to be breaching a new contract between the two of them. There was a sort of calmness in the air that morning, one that had not been in the flat for over a month, comfortable and sweet. No words being exchanged, it seemed more obvious than ever, yet they both knew they would eventually need to have a serious talk.

“Get going where?”

“Rehearsals. We’ve got a gig coming up in two weeks.”

“Really?” Brian said, overcome by happiness over the fact that they had managed to book something, before coming back to his senses. “I don’t know, Roger…”

“I get it,” Roger said, finally untangling himself from Brian’s arms.

Silent, they both got out of bed, dressing and getting ready together, natural and without any of the anger and tension that had been sizzling hot around them for the past couple of weeks. Roger understood, at least sort of. Brian managed to feel guilty about it. As though Brian had no autonomy himself, he got into Roger’s car and let himself be driven, got out of the car, lead by Roger, taken in to meet Freddie and the new bass player, whose name Brian had already forgotten.

“Nice of you to join us, darling!” Freddie said, early to rehearsals, already playing a catchy tune on the piano. Brian acknowledged him with a grunt.

Playing was not difficult this time around, his fingers no longer as stiff as they once were. They had been getting some practice, Brian thought to himself, blushing in the process. Luckily for him, nobody noticed, but he did catch Roger’s eye behind the drumset, sharing a dark look.

As soon as they were alone, Roger had him cornered, knee between his legs and lips hot on his neck. It was risky and foolish, but it was addictive, pushing all rational thoughts away and leaving space for thoughts of Roger’s lips all over his body, searching and exploring. He felt himself rapidly hardening due to the thoughts alone and got a firm grip on Roger’s shoulders, pushing him away only slightly. 

“When we get home,” Brian said, leaving an open end for Roger to fill in the blanks, in turn spreading a smirk across Roger’s pretty face.

“Alright,” he said. In that moment, Freddie and John joined them in the room, chatting and laughing before Freddie turned to Brian.

“We were talking about Christmas plans,” Freddie said. “John here’s got no plans, and neither do I.”

Brian looked over at Roger. “Neither do we,” Roger said.

‘We,’ Brian thought to himself, a word that would mean nothing other than that they were indeed flatmates. Somehow it felt like more than that.

“How about we all have a little celebration at my place!” Freddie said, draping an arm around John’s shoulder. “As a family.”

“Sounds good!” Roger said immediately. 

In truth, Brian did have plans to spend it with his parents, but the thought of being excluded from this new ‘family’, as Freddie had put it, felt like wasted time. He had spent weeks excluded already. The pleased smile on Roger’s face filled him with something new, a blossoming feeling, sweet and refreshing, a cool breeze during a blistering summer. It filled him with warmth as they left the college together, as close as they could possibly get without actually holding hands, trudging through the snow in trainers that got soaked in seconds. The sun was peeking through the clouds, blessing them with light for once.

 

“Mary, darling, come greet our guests!” Freddie said after letting Brian and Roger into his flat. Freddie wore a burgundy Christmas sweater and silver glitter in his hair, looking like the perfect mix of a homebody and a kindergartener dressed up for the occasion.

Brian knew Mary would be there, told only the day prior by Roger that she had moved in. It seemed like a quick jump to Brian. As far as he knew, she and Freddie had only been dating for a month, but he disregarded his thoughts of judgement as jealousy, until he looked from Mary to Roger, from one blonde to another.

Roger was radiant.

Mary was cold.

“Hey Roger,” she said, giving Roger a hug before turning to Brian. “Brian.”

“Mary,” Brian answered, taking off his shoes.

John appeared behind them, a girl who introduced herself as Veronica following close behind. The few times Brian had met John it had been awkward, never getting more than a few words out of each other and never making the effort to, but this time, a glass of brandy each fuelling them, it was easier to get along. John was young but he certainly was not immature. It was a great distraction, with Roger helping Freddie in the kitchen (disastrous, considering neither of them could cook very well), from Mary who was sitting on the other end of the sofa, swirling around the liquid in her glass and inspecting her nails.

The peace was short-lived, however, and soon Brian found himself alone with Mary, neither of them making an effort to talk to one another. An air of tension sparked around them and when Brian opened his mouth to speak, Mary was quick to interrupt him.

“It’s fine, Brian,” she said, taking a swig of her drink. “You don’t have to make conversation with me.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Brian made a point by looking away from her, taking a big gulp of brandy, burning his throat in the process and having to stop himself from wincing. Mary, of course, noticed, snorting at the sight before she actually moved closer, her eyes on his face.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I know I wasn’t the problem.”

“You’re saying I was the problem?” Brian said, finally looking back at her.

“That’s not what I said.” Mary pulled her knees up to her chest, resting against the sofa. “You could’ve just called me up and told me you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

‘It wasn’t that simple because I did not want to hurt your feelings, Mary, and I think I might not be completely straight but I was so far from realising that at the time. Actually, I’m pretty damn sure I’m not straight, considering I’ve been fucking my best mate for -’

“I know,” she said, interrupting his train of inappropriate thoughts. 

“But I am sorry,” he said. “I was an arse.” Brian paused. “I still kind of am.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said. “Freddie speaks well of you.”

“He does, does he?” Brian said, amused. If anything, he would have expected Freddie to say the opposite, considering the way Brian had treated him in the last while. Before Mary could say anymore, Roger was yelling Brian’s name from the kitchen, and Brian jumped on the opportunity of escaping Mary. 

“I think we really screwed this up,” Roger said when Brian entered the kitchen, stirring the pot with great difficulty. Brian took the lead, taking the spoon from Roger’s hand, stirring it for him. It smelled good, it was not burnt, but Roger was looking at him with big eyes as if he was worried he had messed up the entire night.

“It seems alright,” Brian said. Freddie snorted and shook his head at Roger, who gave him a glare before turning back to Brian.

“Are you sure?”  
“Roger just wanted your company,” Freddie said, putting his arms around Roger’s waist, hugging him from behind. “Silly thing.”

“Shut up, Fred,” Roger said, swatting Freddie’s hands away. Freddie laughed before ruffling Roger’s hair.

“Dinner’s ready, folks!” Freddie said, loud enough for everybody in the flat to hear.

Soon enough, all of them were seated at the dining table, Brian seated next to Roger with Freddie looking at them, a smug look on his face, from across the table. Giving him a glare, Brian enjoyed the lively conversation. This kind of calm atmosphere had not been present in their lives for a long time and Brian was eternally grateful for it, getting lost in the laughter and joy, watching the candles burn out as they drank more, ate, laughed and talked about anything and everything. John was awfully social, cracking sarcastic jokes with a deadpan face just to watch the rest of them crumble before he broke into laughter himself, with the rest following shortly.

That was until an hour or so later, when Brian felt a hand on his, warm and calloused, stroking his knuckles carefully. Without looking up, Brian felt Roger guide his hand to his thigh and he instinctively tightened his fingers around it, enjoying the softness beneath Roger’s trousers. Slowly but surely, Roger forced his hand upwards without ever catching his eye until it was resting on his crotch, outline of a hard cock clear in Brian’s hand. He coughed, a blush spreading rapidly on his face, attempting to move his hand away. Nobody had caught on, but if Roger continued to act like such a menace, Brian was sure somebody would notice. Not until he managed to look up, hand tight around Roger’s erection, did he notice that Freddie was leaned back in his chair, eyebrows furrowed and the inkling of a smile on his face.

“Doing okay there, Brian?” John interrupted suddenly, and Brian removed his hand at an impressive speed. “You look a bit sick.”

“Just had a few too many of these,” Brian said, grabbing his glass.

“Are you sure?” Roger said, eyes twinkling and innocent. If Brian did not have half of a mind at that moment, he would have just strangled him.

“I’m sure,” Brian said through gritted teeth. The conversation picked up and the ordeal was forgotten, but from the corner of his eye, Brian could see Roger smiling as he took another sip of his drink.

Brian was helping Freddie clean up, the rest of the party in the living room, when Freddie suddenly stopped in his tracks, hands on his hips and looking up at Brian. Turning to look at him, Brian raised his eyebrows, waiting for Freddie to say something. When nothing was said, Brian wiped his hands and turned around fully, resting against the counter.

“What?” he said.

“I was just wondering,” Freddie began. “You don’t have to answer.”

“Yeah?”

“What exactly is this thing between you and Roger?”

Brian stilled, lips pursed and a million thoughts running through his mind. With Freddie putting the words out into the open, soundwaves rushing through the air, he could suddenly hear his own breathing clearer than ever before. Biting his lip, he took a moment to think through what he was to say. Was there even anything there? How honest could he be with Freddie, who already knew everything? Had Freddie forgotten?

Pulling his mind together, he spoke. “I like him.”

“And he likes you,” Freddie said, before changing his mind. “No, actually. He loves you.”

“And how would you know that?” 

“Oh, darling,” Freddie said, shaking his head. “The way he looks at you. The way he always wants you around. The way whenever I am alone with him, he can’t seem to stop talking about you.”

“Really?” Brian said, feeling as if he were being crushed under Freddie’s gaze.

“Really.”

It was quiet for a moment, with Brian listening to Roger’s loud laugh from the living room, soft music playing in the flat, Freddie’s gaze on him. “You seem so… Fine with it.”

Freddie cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t think I would be?”

Without missing a beat, Brian answered. “It’s not just you.”

Freddie nodded in understanding. “It must be hard coming to terms with it. I mean, you and Roger. Who could’ve guessed?”

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s kind of cute, actually,” Freddie said, joining Brian in leaning against the counter. “The way you two seem to really have your own thing.”

“You don’t have that with Mary?” Brian asked, looking at Freddie who immediately looked away, something stormy in his dark eyes.

“Mary understands me like nobody else,” he said. There was so much unsaid in that statement, so many buts and ifs, but Brian did not find it necessary to make any further inquiries, not with Freddie looking over at Roger who looked back for a second, sending both of them a warm smile. Brian gave him a smile back before turning back to Freddie.

“Let’s finish cleaning up and get ourselves another drink.”

After a few more drinks, an exchange of cheap gifts and a session of listening to Freddie’s drunken rendition of Silent Night, Roger and Brian were left stumbling home in the snow, stopping every few seconds in a fit of giggles just to hug each other and exchange a few kisses here and there. The streets were empty and quiet, rare for a night in London, and the two of them took the opportunity to be as close as they could, away from prying eyes and the alcohol loosening their inhibitions. Roger stopped, folding in on himself as he tried to stop laughing at a stupid joke Brian had made. Brian laughed at the state of his flatmate, putting his arms around him to make him stand up straight. 

When Roger’s laughing subsided, all that was left was the warmth of Roger’s breath on Brian’s lips and the feeling of Roger’s too thin denim jacket under his palms. Looking up into his eyes, Roger put both of his hands on Brian’s cheeks, holding his face as if he were the most fragile, precious thing he had ever seen. All traces of laughter were gone from his face, and he leaned forward, kissing Brian gently. When he pulled away, Brian took his time to look over Roger’s face. Flushed form the cold, the tip of his nose red and eyes damp, he looked like the sweetest thing, so far from the cold drummer with groupies lining up to be used by him every night. 

That was a different Roger. This Roger, with reddened cheeks and sparkling eyes, was all Brian’s.

“I’m so glad you’re better,” Roger said. Brian sighed, unwilling to have this conversation, but Roger persisted, keeping his hands on Brian’s face. “No, I mean it. I was so worried for you.”

“You didn’t have to be.”

“I think I did,” Roger said, thumbs brushing against Brian’s skin. “And I’m so glad you’re back.”

Brian nodded, simply choosing not to argue against Roger any longer. They made it home safely, walking in silence, Roger’s hand somehow finding its way into Brian’s. Brian unlocked the door with one hand, the other remaining in Roger’s, and they stumbed in together, Roger nearly falling flat on his face, but Brian managing to catch him just in time. Roger looked up at him, eyes shimmering and a drunken smile on his face.

“My savior,” Roger slurred.

“Let’s get your arse in bed.”

“Will you join me?”

“Yeah.”

Undressing together, giggling for no apparent reason, they found each other under the duvet of Roger’s bed, hands all over each other and mouths feeling each other out, as if it was their first time together. The pang of guilt came fast when Roger was keening against him, whining for Brian to just get out of his underwear already, and he stopped in his tracks to just look into Roger’s eyes for a moment, apologies spilling out before he could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said.

“For what?”

“I was…” Brian began, but stopped as he realised that he had no idea how to formulate his thoughts without seeming manipulative. “I’ve been rough with you.” Roger looked at him, perplexed, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. “In bed.”

Roger shook his head and moved himself on top of Brian, straddling his waist and putting his hands on Brian’s chest. “I never stopped you, did I?”

“But still.”

“I wanted it,” Roger said, leaning down to nibble at Brian’s jaw. “I want it now.”

“It still wasn’t okay,” Brian said, forcing back a moan at the feeling of Roger’s tongue dancing on his neck. 

“Shut up,” Roger said, effectively silencing him as he grinded his hips against Brian. Sharing a low moan, they wrapped their arms around each other, and Brian let his inhibitions go. Letting his hands trail down Roger’s sides, resting on his hips, gripping hard, he flipped them over, now attacking Roger’s chest with bites and kisses. Roger’s hands tangled in his hair and he wasted no time in removing Roger’s underwear, moving down until he was faced with Roger’s cock. He ghosted his lips over it for just a second before Roger’s hands guided him down, and he took him in, granting access down into his throat. It tasted salty, warm, comfortable against Brian’s tongue as he attempted to take in as much as possible.

“Holy shit,” Roger breathed out, his grip in Brian’s hair tightening. “Just like that.”

Encouraged by the praise, Brian hummed, bobbing up and down, guided by Roger’s hands. Brian had never thought sucking another man off would be such a pleasurable experience, but the moans he drew from Roger and the feeling of being filled spurred him on, and he palmed himself through his underwear as he focused on not letting his teeth scrape against the cock in his mouth.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” Roger moaned and their eyes met. It was possibly the most erotic image Brian had ever seen, Roger looking down at him with his mouth open and chest flushed, everything exposed and willing. The grip in Brian’s hair only furthered his own arousal, and despite himself, he felt as if he might come from this alone.

“I might come if you keep this up,” Roger groaned, and Brian tightened his grip around his own cock as he let his tongue swipe across the head of Roger’s cock. “You want me to come from this, do you?”

Brian hummed against Roger’s cock, feeling himself getting impossibly harder from the sound of Roger’s voice. It was too much at that point, the position of power he had, dictating every move, yet vulnerable with the way Roger was tugging at his hair, guiding him up and down. Before long, he came, jerking against the bedsheets and lips tightening around Roger.

“Fuck,” Roger managed to say before he, too, came, filling Brian’s mouth with come. Instinctively, Brian swallowed, letting his throat get filled with it, enjoying the feeling of Roger’s cock slipping out of his mouth, resting against Brian’s cheek. “Your turn.” Roger pulled Brian up, kissing him sweetly before reaching down to touch Brian, only then realising he had already came, judging from the wet spot in his underwear. “You came?”

For some reason, it embarrassed Brian, and he buried his face in Roger’s shoulder, shielding himself from the laughter that came from Roger.

“You came from that?” he asked again, pulling Brian’s head to look at him. Brian could only nod before he laid down beside Roger again, removing his underwear and throwing it on the floor. “That’s so hot.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Roger replied, turning to nuzzle his face in Brian’s neck. “Merry Christmas, Bri.”

“Merry Christmas.”

 

For more than a week, Brian’s bed went unused. He would always shower, get ready for bed with the pretense that he would sleep in his own bed, but then Roger would pull him along, and he used that as an excuse. It was a very convenient excuse, considering that Roger seemed so willing each time. Some nights, they would go to sleep immediately, tentatively inching closer to each other until one of them was spooning the other. Other nights, they would stay awake, hungry, mouths and hands being put to good use as they moaned each other’s names.

When New Years Eve came along, Brian thought it appropriate to make it at least look as if he had been sleeping in his own bed. Freddie, Mary, John, Veronica, as well as a few other friends would be coming over to celebrate, as they had the biggest flat out of all of them. Brian had reluctantly agreed, only because Freddie was pestering him about it and Roger’s pleading eyes had his knees weak. They prepared by filling up their cabinets with alcohol and getting their sexual frustration out of the way before the guests would arrive.

“Fuck, do that again,” Roger said, leaned against the kitchen counter with Brian on his knees, Roger’s hands in his hair. “God, that feels so good.”

Brian hummed, taking him in deeper, one hand on Roger’s hip to stop him from thrusting forward, the other on the base of Roger’s cock. All it took for Roger to tip over was a press of his tongue, a trick he had learned somewhere along the way, and all of a sudden his mouth was filled with come. He grabbed into the counter, pulling himself up.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Roger laughed, breathless and dishevelled. 

“Thanks,” Brian said, pressing Roger up against the counter, hips together and mouths on each other in an instant. He was aching for release, wanted more than anything to be buried deep inside Roger. Even the thought had him riled up and he grabbed frantically at the back of Roger’s shirt, pulling and biting down on his lip. They were unfortunately interrupted by the front door opening and Freddie’s voice singing out into the apartment. Cursing to himself, Brian sent Roger a deathly glare, as he was forcing back a laugh of pity.

“Later,” Roger mocked.

“You have to promise,” Brian said, sounding childish, but he was way too desperate to care.

“I promise,” Roger said, biting his lip before giving Brian a quick peck. He pulled away just in time for Freddie to make his appearance, carrying two large grocery bags.

“My darlings,” he said, moving to embrace them both in a hug.

“Hey, Fred,” Brian greeted him, sitting down cross-legged to hide his erection.

“Mary will be here in about half an hour,” he said. “I think John said he’ll be here around seven, so we’ve got an hour to get everything ready.”

“‘Get everything ready’?” Brian repeated. “What do we need to ‘get ready’?”

“The decorations, my dear Brian!” Freddie said. Roger laughed, looking through one of the bags Freddie had brought, seeing strings of glitter and golden balloons.

“This is a lot, Freddie,” Roger said, pulling up a festoon with the number ‘1971’ on it. “I like it.”

“I knew you would,” Freddie said, pressing a kiss to Roger’s cheek.

Brian would have no part in it, making himself a gin and tonic before moving out of the other two’s way, watching them putting up the awful decorations all over the house. Roger was putting up glitter high on the walls, back arched, too busy to notice the way Brian stared. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he watched as Roger arched his back even more, as if he knew Brian was watching, putting on a show just to taunt him.

As frustrating as it was, Brian knew he could do nothing but sit and watch bitterly. It was not until Freddie plopped down on the seat next to him that he was pulled out of his trance, quickly crossing his legs to hide the incriminating evidence of the thoughts he was having. Freddie, however, had a naughty look on his face, following Brian’s line of sight.

“Little minx, isn’t he?” he whispered into Brian’s ear.

“Shut up,” Brian said, elbowing Freddie.

“Sorry,” he giggled. 

Guests started coming in at around seven, the first of them being John and Veronica. They had brought along one of Veronica’s friends, a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, tall with dark hair, muscular, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a hairy chest. It seemed very out of character for him, but Freddie was shy around the new man, eyes wide and smile polite. Seeing this, Brian took over, offering the man a drink.

By midnight, all of them were quite drunk, including Brian who was laughing at one of John’s sarcastic jokes. After a full minute, he was calm enough to take a breath and he sighed, looking over at Roger, who sat on the floor in front of the television, turning up the volume.

“It’s almost midnight!” Freddie said. “Hurry up, folks, let’s go out on the balcony. Watch the fireworks.”

Roger then turned back, immediately catching Brian’s eye. Everybody was inching towards the balcony, but both Roger and Brian stayed put, looking at each other, forming a secret agreement. Freddie only turned back for a second, looking between the two, giving Brian a small smile before he himself stepped out.

“Let’s go,” Brian said and stood up, offering his hand to Roger. Taking it and pulling himself up, Roger let himself be embraced by Brian as they walked to his room, looking out at the sky and the fireworks. He could only manage to do so for a minute before his eyes inevitably drifted back to Roger, taking in the very sight of him, feeling as if the look Roger gave him was more intoxicating than any gin and tonic in the world. 

When they heard the cheers from the balcony, both of them surged forward, capturing each other in a kiss. They lingered for a moment longer, breathed in the feeling, filling their lungs with new hope of a new year full of new possibilities. 

“Happy new year,” Brian said, brushing a strand of hair out of Roger’s face.

“Welcome to 1971, I guess,” Roger laughed. The sound and the way he looked, wide smile and big eyes was enough for Brian to close the distance again, grabbing Roger’s face and kissing him deeply. 

“I love you so much,” Brian said and it felt like too big of a statement, a different meaning to it now than the last time he said it, but Roger’s smile never faded.

“I love you too, arsehole,” Roger replied.

The party carried on until the wee hours of the morning, and by the end of it with all the guests gone, Brian was ready to lay down in Roger’s bed and pass out, waiting to clean up until his hungover had fully set in. Now, he felt ecstatic, mind running wild and a comfortable buzz throughout his body. He closed his eyes, spreading his limbs out on the bed like a starfish, content to stay that way until he was interrupted by Roger pouncing on him, peppering kisses all over his face.

“Wake up,” he whispered into Brian’s ear, and Brian adhered, grabbing Roger and pushing him down on the bed with himself on top, biting at Roger’s neck until he was sure a bruise would form.

“You didn’t forget about your promise, did you?” he said in a low voice, and Roger whimpered.

“Of course not,” he said, grabbing Brian by his face and pushing him down into a kiss. 

There was no time to be wasted, their drunken state spurring them on as they got undressed and Brian blindly felt around in the bedside table for lube. He wanted to take his time preparing Roger, but impatient as ever, Roger was hissing at him to just fuck him, take him right then, please, Brian. That was all it took before Brian pushed Roger’s legs up, leaving him exposed and vulnerable with Brian’s cock in his hole.

“Harder,” Roger moaned, louder than normal, likely due to his caution being thrown out the window, alcohol coursing through his veins and Brian’s hands all over him. Brian did as Roger ordered, fucking him hard enough for the headboard to bang loudly against the wall, the neighbours likely waking up from their peaceful slumber to the sound of the two men banging their frustrations out.

“Fuck, Roger,” Brian said, each time equally as amazed by Roger’s ability of making getting fucked in the arse look so graceful, so tempting and gorgeous. A fleeting thought that maybe next time it would be him passed him by, but before it disappeared completely, he grabbed onto it, letting it spur him on as he screwed Roger into the morning, getting lost in the feeling.

The following morning, Brian definitely regretted having had so many drinks. His head was pounding viciously as he drank the glass of water by the bed, mentally thanking last night’s Roger for putting it there. Apropos Roger, he turned around to see the bed empty and heard the shower running.

Brian took the opportunity to sprawl himself out on the bed, taking up every single square inch, forcing back the nausea that was threatening to take over. Naked and warm, he enjoyed the chill breeze coming from the open window, sighing deeply when he heard Roger entering the room. roger wolf-whistled before climbing onto the bed, putting his head full of damp hair on Brian’s chest. 

“Isn’t this a sight,” he said, trailing his hand down Brian’s stomach.

Brian hummed, grabbing Roger’s hand and bringing it to his lips, where he kissed it before placing it back down on his stomach. Only then did he open his eyes, turning to look at Roger, kissing his forehead a few times.

“I feel like shit,” he said.

“You don’t look like it.”

“Thanks,” Brian said, wrapping his arm around Roger. 

Something changed in an instant, the atmosphere going from calm and comfortable to just the slightest bit tense when Roger sat back up, looking at Brian with his eyebrows furrowed. Brian opened his eyes fully, looking over Roger’s facial expression, worry creeping up in his stomach, the slowly healing edges of the hole in his chest being reopened with just a second’s warning.

“What?” he said, forcing himself up on his elbows, voice cold.

“I was just thinking,” Roger said. “We’ve already established that this… Thing, is not exactly normal.”

“Yeah?” 

“But what is this thing?” Roger said. “I’m not saying we should stop. It’s just that… It’s more than sex now, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Brian said, attempting and failing to sound nonchalant. Roger hummed, a strange expression forming on his face as he looked away, down at his lap, fingers drumming on his thighs. It awakened a new found courage in Brian, a desperate need to wipe that concerned expression off of Roger’s face. “I haven’t had time to think. Haven’t had the energy to think. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m…” He paused. There was that word, the word he had heard thrown around the schoolyard, the word his friends had told other boys as they pushed them up against lockers, the word audiences had twisted and turned and spat at Freddie after a bad gig. It was hard to say, weighing heavily on his tongue. So taboo, but clear as day. “I don’t even know if I’m gay.”

“Well, fuck, Brian. I don’t know what I am either.”

It was silent as both of them took it in, heavy and uncomfortable. Roger turned to him, opening his mouth as if to speak, but Brian beat him to it.

“It’s kind of weird to think about,” he said. “And none of this was timed right.”

“You were never good with timing.”

Both of them shared a small laughed that soon died down, and soon, Roger’s fingers found Brian’s, intertwining them and lifting them up to rest comfortably in the air. Roger kept his eyes on them as he spoke.

“Should we tell Fred?”

Brian was taken aback for a moment. “Uhm… He kind of already knows.”

Roger looked at him, mouth open and flustered. “What? How?”

“It slipped out,” he said, and was quick to reassure Roger when his eyes widened. “He’s fine with it unless it hurts the band.”

“So,” Roger said, leaning over Brian, face parallel to his, a smile forming on his face. “You’re back in the band?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“God, Brian. You have no idea how many rubbish guitar players there are in London.”

They both shared a laugh, hands entwining again. Brian laughed again and he could basically feel the dopamine rushing through his body when Roger smiled down at him and placed a hand on his cheek.

“You are so pretty,” Roger said.

“Never thought I’d be called pretty by my best mate,” Brian said, but smiled nonetheless, drinking in the compliment and letting it swell, almost enough to fill the hole in his chest.

“When you’ve taken someone’s cock in your arse you can call them whatever you want.”

Brian laughed and could not help himself, pulling Roger down, disregarding his hangover and not caring that Roger’s hair was making his entire chest wet.

 

It came and went. Whenever Brian thought the emptiness and the hole was gone, there would be another blow, shotgun ripping him apart from the inside and out, next time more devastating that the previous time. Roger would know, almost instinctively, and withdrew, drinking and keeping himself distant, until he realised that only made it worse. Worry gnawed at them both whenever it happened, but before they knew it, it would be gone, leaving room for soft morning kisses and heated midnight ones.

Brian’s things were still kept in his own room but it had been months since it was used. The warm spring air made his room to warm to sleep in anyway, he reasoned. Waking up next to Roger was a treat in itself, and it made the bleeding of his chest slightly more bearable. 

The only person who knew was Freddie, and they chose to keep it that way. The risk was too big, even with John, who was rapidly growing closer to all of them, fitting in like the last piece of the puzzle. Still, it was a barrier that needed to be torn in its own time, when the moment was right.

With the hole growing and shrinking, Brian was afraid of what was to come. They were getting bigger as a band, gaining a bigger gathering of fans who would come to every single gig. Some of their gigs were sold out and they all relished in the feeling, downing pints and flirting with girls who had no chance with them. When Brian woke up morning after morning, the hole never ever disappearing completely, the only thing he felt was worry. There would come a day, Brian knew, when they were properly big. There would come a day when they were famous and Brian woke up with a devastating gunshot wound, splinters and bullets lodged him him, and nothing would be able to get him out of bed. There would come a day when he would be replaced, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And yet, when Roger was woken up by Brian’s soft sniffles and rapid breaths, cradling him and whispering to him that he was okay, he had to believe him. He held onto Roger like his only lifeline. 

He would be okay, Roger said. He would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i want to write a freddie-centric sequel. if u comment, pls let me know if ur interested!! if u have any requests or u just wanna be friends (im very friendly i promise), hmu @larryxlurex on instagram. again thank all of u for reading this! cheers


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